Books of Memory
by dragonwriter24cmf
Summary: McGee has an idea of what to give Gibbs for Christmas, but it needs to be a team effort. And how will Gibbs react? Sequel to 'Children in his Hands'
1. Chapter 1

Books of Memories

**Summary:** McGee wants to give Gibbs a Christmas gift, and finally has the perfect idea. But he'll need the entire team's help to do it. And how will Gibbs react to his present? Sequel to 'Children in His Hands'.

**Chapter One: A Christmas Idea**

"Ah, Christmas." Tony leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smile and a sigh. " A season of good cheer, presents..."

"And Christmas parties, at which one can usually find...companionship, I assume." Ziva finished the sentence, looking over her desk with a smug smile. "I, of course, do not celebrate Christmas in the traditional sense, but it is hard to miss the signs. They have been up since..."

"Since Thanksgiving. You know, it's still two weeks away, but a lot of people like to have parties early." Tony returned the grin. "You should go. Might even find some...companionship. It might not be traditional, but..."

"I do not need to attend parties, if I wish a companion." Ziva's brow arched in the particularly knowing look she had. "So...how many of these parties are you attending, Tony?"

He shook his head, a smirk on his face. "I am not telling you, Miss David."

Ziva shrugged. "You are at least attending the NCIS staff party this year, I trust? After all, we did already draw names for the gift exchange." She smiled again. "You would not want to disappoint."

"Why?" Tony leaned forward on his desk, his own eyebrow arching with a smirk that was just short of a leer. "Did you...draw my name, Miss David?"

She smirked back. "You will simply have to come and find out."

Tony shrugged. "Have to come anyway." He held up the creased piece of paper. "I drew Abby this year. She'd cry if I didn't give her a present." A considering frown crossed his face. "Come to think of it, I don't know what to get her yet. What kind of present do you get a Gothic Forensic Scientist anyway?" He frowned again, then grabbed a piece of paper, crumbled it, and lofted it the direction of McGee's desk. "Hey, you and Abby were close. What does she like?"

"That was a while ago, Tony." McGee sighed. "She likes goth stuff, new lab equipment...stuffed animals..." He frowned in consideration. "Come to think of it, I think she mentioned she was having problems with her skates, or something like that. You should look into it." He turned back to his own desk.

"Thanks." Tony studied him a moment. "You know...I mention holiday giving, and you got that little frown on your face. We don't have a new case, so it has to be...let me guess, the Christmas party."

McGee sighed. "Yes. I'm having a little trouble, okay?"

"Really? So...who did you draw?" Tony grinned. "Maybe I can help."

McGee sighed again. "Don't ask. Please don't ask."

"Ah, come on, how hard could it be?" Tony grinned, then cocked his head. "Unless...you got me. Is that it, Timmy?"

"No. I did not draw you." McGee shot him a look. "And don't call me Timmy. You know I hate that."

"All in the spirit of fun." Tony shook his head. "Seriously though..."

"If it is someone that you do not know well in the department, then perhaps one of us does. We could help you out." Ziva chimed in.

"Oh, hey, was it that chick from the psych department? The one who used to have a crush on you? Cause I have a few ideas for that, if you're interested. And she is kinda hot..."

"It isn't her." McGee sighed and pushed back from his desk, knowing he wasn't going to get any work done. "I wish it were that easy."

"Then who?" Ziva folded her hands in front of her, taking the posture she usually had when she was perfectly willing to wait it out. Beside him, Tony was watching him intently.

McGee ran a hand through his hair and released an exasperated huff. "I got Gibbs, okay?"

The smile dropped from Tony's face into a grimace of sympathy. "Ouch. That is a tough one." he frowned, thinking again. "What do you get the guy who really does want nothing for Christmas? Maybe you should give him an IOU on a trip to a lumber yard. Or some varnish, or something."

"Tony." Ziva shot him an admonishing look. "Even you could do better than that."

"I'm just saying..." Tony shrugged. "You know, the other option is to give him a gag gift. Like something really really stupid. Maybe a set of bunny ears, or a Playboy magazine, or even..."

"I am not getting Gibbs a gag gift." McGee glared at him. "He'd probably just shoot me, or something."

Tony frowned. "There is that."

"You should ask Abby, or Ducky. Perhaps they would have an idea." Ziva was considering options.

McGee grimaced. "I already tried that."

"Then I guess you are...what is the word? Sunk?"

"You're all gonna be that, if I don't have those reports and case files you're supposed to be working on done soon." Gibbs strode into their area of the bullpen, moving towards his desk with a fresh cup of coffee.

Tony jerked upright. "On it, boss. We were just giving Tim some suggestions about a project he's working on. Quick break, that's all."

"Yeah, well, unless it's those files, or a new case...take care of it outside of work." His gaze came up to wander around the area. "Goes for all of you."

"Got it." All three of them nodded a hasty agreement, then went back to the backlog of reports they were all entering. Holiday seasons generally brought in plenty of paperwork. Only three days earlier, they'd been tracking what they thought was a kidnapping case of a petty officer, only to find out he'd gone to have a quiet getaway with a girlfriend and been stranded with no phone. And of course, there were the usual rash of shore leave issues, assaults, drunk and disorderly reports and so forth. They weren't handling most of the actual cases, but the reports came to NCIS, to be processed so they could be referenced for future cases. Normally, agents didn't do the paperwork, but the clerical staff was always willing to get extra hands, and Vance had volunteered the team. Gibbs had split the paperwork among them, dropped a much smaller pile in his own desk, and was working on who knew what.

McGee sighed again. He wanted to give Gibbs a real present. The man was their boss. More than that, he valued Gibbs. A secondary father-figure, a mentor, the man who consistently had his back, more than any other. And it had only been a couple months since Gibbs had been hit by a car protecting him. He snuck a quick glance around his computer. Gibbs was apparently working hard. His arm had come out of it's sling a few weeks prior, and he was no longer limping. He seemed fine, really, and he'd dismissed him from his voluntary chauffeur detail a month ago.

He remembered the night he'd gone over to visit Gibbs, to thank him. That first night, when the car had hit him. They'd talked, him drinking water, Gibbs nursing a beer along. It had been an odd conversation, far more revealing than he'd ever expected Gibbs to become. The conversation stayed with him, nagging at the back of his mind, but it didn't seem appropriate to ask about such things at work. And somehow, he was too nervous to ask about it outside of work. Sure, Gibbs really didn't lock his doors, and he'd been welcoming enough, but...asking personal questions of Gibbs felt...disrespectful. Invasive even.

"McGee, those reports are not going to magically file themselves while you stare at me." He jerked out of his thoughts to realize he was still frowning over at Gibbs desk, and Gibbs was staring back at him, an odd expression on his face. Actually, a rather irritated expression.

"Sorry boss." He jerked his gaze to his computer, and tried to focus on his reports. But something about the night just kept bothering him.

He suppressed another sigh, then began typing in the data from the report he was working on. He knew it was important, but it was tedious work, and it gave him too much time to think. Still, he tried to keep his focus on the job.

An hour later he was getting cramps in his fingers and shoulders. He stopped to roll them out, and get a snack bar out of his desk drawer to keep himself going. As he leaned over, his eye caught on a picture taped to one corner of his desk. It was a photo his sister had given him as a thank you for getting her out of trouble, when she'd nearly been framed for murder. She'd snuck pictures of the team, then had a friend photo-shop them together into a nice layout. Gibbs, in side-view, watching the rest of them as they 'worked' or goofed off.

McGee blinked. It reminded him of the photos Gibbs had shown him that night. The one carefully constructed of two different pictures, where it looked as if Gibbs was embracing his daughter and another young woman. Maddie Tyler, the girl who'd come to him for help one morning.

The memory of the photo brought back Gibbs words from that night. _"__I'm__ never __gonna __know __what __Kelly __would__ have __been __like. __I__ don't __get __to__ know __her __as __an __adult.__ But __I__ know __you.__"_ He remembered his shock, that Gibbs would consider them his children, like the daughter he loved so dearly.

He looked back at the photo on his desk, a thought forming in his mind. The truth was, he hadn't guessed that Gibbs cared for them so much. But he did value the older man, like a father.

He thought of all the things he shared with his real father, and his mother and sister. Of course, in his family, they had stacks and stacks of photo albums, pictures dating from the baby years all the way up to when he'd become an agent.

Photo albums. Pictures. Memories. Childhoods. The words connected in his brain, giving him the answer in a flash. _That's __it. __That's __what __I__ can__ give __him._ Of course, he wasn't going to give Gibbs such a personal gift here. Something that valuable, and that potentially embarrassing, was best delivered in a private moment. But...

McGee frowned, then opened his email and typed in a message.

_Have __an __idea __I'd __like __to __run__ by __you. __It's __important,__ and __I__ don't __want__ to __discuss __it __at __work.__ Meet __me __in __the __bar __down __the __street __at __7? __-__McGee._

_ PS. Please don't tell Gibbs. I want to surprise him with something._

He posted the message to the entire team, double checking to make sure Gibbs was _not_ one of the recipients, then fired it off. Ducky and Palmer, he knew, were erratic about checking their email, so he sent the older man a text as well.

"That better be job-related, McGee."

McGee jumped. He hadn't been aware that Gibbs was watching him. The older man's eyes were glancing at the cell phone. Of course.

"Just...checking something with Ducky, boss." He sighed in relief when the agent went back to his work, then added a quick, 'please email me' to the message before sending it off.

An hour later, he had his replies, all affirmative. He sighed in relief, then set himself to finishing as many files as possible, so Gibbs wouldn't have an excuse to hold him back at the end of the day. Not that the files had any great urgency about them, but he didn't want to be accused of slacking.

Finally, the end of the day rolled around. Ducky was the first to leave, coming up and waving them all a cheerful 'good evening'. Tony took the excuse to run, saying he'd hit a stopping point for the day and might as well go. Shortly after, McGee managed to excuse himself as well. He felt a little guilty, but it was the end of shift. Besides, he really didn't want to be the last one in the bullpen with Gibbs. He was absolutely sure the man would guess he was planning something.

Ducky, Tony and Palmer were waiting when he arrived at the bar. Tony grinned and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Okay, McMystery. What's this plan? I mean...trying to surprise Gibbs...that takes a lot of guts and native sneakiness."

"Indeed. I confess, I am quite as curious as young Anthony." Ducky was looking at him. "I do hope you're not planning on trying to play a prank on Jethro. That would be most unwise. I remember...there was this fellow, just when Jethro was getting his start as a senior agent..."

"It isn't a prank, Ducky. It's just something I wanted to get him for Christmas. But I'm gonna need help, okay?" he sighed. "Can we please get a table, and wait for Ziva and Abby?"

"An excellent suggestion." Ducky waved over one of the staff, and within moments they had a table for six secured. Minutes later, Abby and Ziva strolled in, Abby's eyes scanning for them.

She spotted them group and waved, then made a beeline for them, Ziva right behind her. As soon as she reached the table, she sat down and focused the full intensity of her 'forensic scientist stare' on him. "Okay, McGee, spill. What's this big thing you've got going on? And why, exactly, are we trying to surprise Gibbs? Cause that's usually not safe, and you're not usually this sneaky. So...what are you planning?"

McGee swallowed. He felt nervous, all of a sudden. His idea had sounded good, in his head, in the squad room in the middle of the afternoon. Faced with actually convincing the others to help him implement it...that was a whole different story.

"McGee...if you do not say something, very quickly, then I will be tempted to start trying to choke it out of you." Ziva was grinning slightly, and he didn't think she was seriously threatening him, but still...he swallowed.

"Umm...right. Well, the thing is, I have an idea of something to give Gibbs for Christmas. But for it to work properly, it kind of needs to be a team effort. But, first of all..." He turned to the Goth sitting beside him. "Abby, do you still do any scrap-booking, or anything like that?" He knew she had, at one time, and she took tons of photos, of just about anything that interested her.

"I do." She searched his eyes. "What's this about, McGee?"

He swallowed. "You remember when we had that case? The one where that guy hired all those hit men to try and kill his girlfriend so she wouldn't testify?"

"You mean the one where Gibbs saved you from an oncoming car, and nearly got pancaked? The one that involved putting our fearless leader in a sling for two months, and made you his little errand boy?" Tony was grinning. "Yeah, McGee, I'm pretty sure we all remember that one."

"Yes. It was a few months ago, as I recall." Ducky frowned. "But I'm afraid I don't see the relevance, unless you wish to buy Jethro some medical equipment to deal with his tendency to hurt himself. Though I should warn you, it will probably simply collect dust."

"That isn't it. See...that night, I went over to his house, to thank him for saving me. And we got to talking." He swallowed again. The conversation that had occurred between them was a private thing. He didn't want to reveal too much of it, but he wanted the team to understand why he was asking them to help him.

"Am I to guess that Jethro said something that has made a particular impact?" Ducky was studying him.

"Yeah. He said...he said the injuries were worth it, because he was protecting us. And because...because he considers us...well, he kind of..." It was hard, trying force the words past his throat. Finally, he tried to address his words to Ducky. "He implied that it was okay, because we were family."

"Gibbs said that?" Abby blinked. "Gibbs, never says stuff like that. I mean...he kind of hints sometimes, but says...just like that... that is kinda weird."

"Yeah." Tony was staring at him. "You sure you didn't imagine it?"

"Yes, Tony, I am sure I did not imagine it." McGee sighed. "Look, it was kind of late, he was hurting, and he was drinking a little. I think it just sort of slipped. But that's not the point."

"Then perhaps you should get to the point, McGee." Ziva was watching him, and her eyes were quiet, understanding. He had a brief moment to wonder if she'd had one of those odd confidences with Gibbs herself. Certainly, they were close.

He sighed, and decided to simply launch his idea and see what happened. "In my family, we make a lot of photo albums. Family memories, childhood stuff, that kind of thing. It's a way of sharing things. So...I want to make a scrap-book, or a photo album, for Gibbs. Something special. And I'd like each of you guys to make one too."

"Wow. Interesting notion." Abby had an upraised eyebrow, and a faintly admiring expression on her face. "So, were you thinking just NCIS stuff, or you want to go a little earlier? Like, were you going to put in baby pictures or something?"

He felt a slow flush creeping up the back of his neck. "Well...maybe not baby pictures, exactly, but...possibly one or two from when I was younger. A kid even." There was no doubt about it, he was probably crimson by now, but it couldn't be helped.

"Oh God. You have to be joking." Tony's expression was half amused, half terrified. "Giving Gibbs photos from childhood. Why don't you just hand him an envelope marked '**BLACKMAIL**** MATERIAL ****HERE**'. In big, bold, black lettering, so even Vance can see it from that catwalk of his."

"On the contrary, I think it would be an excellent idea." Ducky spoke, relatively soft, but with an intensity that made all of them turn to him. The ME blinked, registering their stares. "Haven't you ever realized...? Well, of course not, I suppose. Jethro does tend to be a bit camera shy. But he always liked taking photographs, particularly of things that matter to him."

"I've never seen Gibbs taking photos, unless it was a crime scene." Tony frowned.

"I have." Abby spoke up. "I mean, he kind of avoids them, and I've never actually _caught_ him taking them, but sometimes he'll leave new ones of the team on my desk. It's like really rare, and they're always shots where you guys aren't looking, but he's really good. And sometimes you are looking, but not like you're posing...I mean Gibbs is, like, the master of subtle."

"Creepy. Makes me wonder what he has on me." Tony shivered.

"I wouldn't worry about it, Anthony. My point is, Jethro does appreciate photographs. But more than that, I think Timothy's idea has particular merit. I've suspected for a long time that Jethro has been allowing his team to become a sort of surrogate family, to replace, in part, the one he lost. Being able to see, even distantly, the events that made you into the people you are would bring him a great deal of joy." Ducky's eyes went distant. "More than anything...I think he rather regrets not having such records of his own wife and child. Or at least, not having more of them."

"Did Agent Gibbs not take pictures when he was younger?" Palmer blinked.

"I can't say. However, I do know that Gibbs was in the marines at the time Shannon and Kelly were alive. I believe he was deployed much of the time, and there is no telling whether or not Shannon took any pictures while he was away. Of course, I find it highly unlikely that she did nothing to preserve the memories for him, but that does not change the fact that Jethro probably missed a great deal. And I suspect he is aware of it, and occasionally has cause to regret it."

"That may be true, but it's not like we can replace those." Tony's voice was quiet.

"No. But it does not hurt to give the man something else to consider." Ducky sipped his drink. "If nothing else, it brings you closer together, and it is people, friends and family more than anything, that Jethro needs in his life."

"No kidding. I mean, I love Gibbs, but sometimes he can make Batman look social." Abby grinned.

Ziva frowned. "Batman?"

"Cartoon character." Tony smirked. "He lives in a huge mansion with his trusty butler Alfred and Robin, the boy wonder, waiting for the bat signal to light up and summon him to fight evildoers." he made a dramatic gesture with his hands, just missing Palmer's head.

"I am confused." Tony started to open his mouth, but Ziva held up a hand. "Never mind. I believe I get the idea. A crime fighter, who is largely isolated, yes?"

"Yep." Abby nodded.

"I see. That does describe Gibbs, to a large extent."

"Except that this is Washington, and Gibbs is hardly a millionaire."

"Look, Tony, would you get back on track, please?" McGee sighed. "The point is, I want to give Gibbs something special. Something important. I think this might be it. So, are you guys in or not?"

"I'd be delighted." Ducky grinned. "Even Jethro hasn't heard all my stories yet, and this would be a fine time to enlighten the dear man. Besides...I've several albums that mother kept that I haven't looked through in years. This will be the perfect opportunity."

Palmer shrugged. "I don't see why not. I mean...considering some of the other stuff he already knows about me..." He shrugged again, a sheepish smile on his face.

Tony perked up. "What other stuff, Autopsy Gremlin?"

"Tony." Abby grinned, then she reached out and patted McGee's hand. "I'm behind you all the way, McGee. I think this is an awesome idea. Just tell me what you need."

McGee heaved a sigh of relief. He had only the vaguest idea of what to do, and her help would make this project actually doable. He turned to the other two members at the table. "Ziva? Tony?"

Tony made a face. "You have got to be kidding me."

"I think it is an excellent idea." Ziva nodded.

Tony's head snapped around. "Wait, you do?" He stared at her, surprise on his face. "You're actually going to voluntarily give Gibbs embarrassing pictures?"

"I am going to voluntarily give him photos of my life. I did not say they would be embarrassing. But...it is only fair." She glanced at the others. "I do not know how this team was before I came, but I know that since I joined you, we have, all of us, been rather shameless about prying into Gibbs' life. Ever since the incident that led to his brief retirement, we have all looked for excuses to dig into his history. And I think he has been rather patient with us for it. It seems fair to offer something back."

Tony grimaced. "You might have a point there."

"Are you in, Tony?" Ziva favored him with a faintly challenging smile. "Or are you too scared?"

"I'm not scared. I just think it's crazy." Tony grinned. "But if you can do it, Miss David, I guarantee I can." He frowned. "The trick is finding pictures. My dad wasn't much of a camera guy. Neither were any of his wives or girlfriends."

Abby grinned. "That's what's great about scrap-booking, as opposed to, like, regular albums. See, in scrapbooks, you can post pieces of stuff, as long as it's mostly flat. Tickets, posters, book covers, stuff like that. I mean, a lot of people like to use pictures, but you can use just about anything you want."

"Oh. Well, that makes it easier. And a little less insane." Tony made a humorous face, then sipped his drink. "So, McGee, what's the time frame for this little project of yours?"

McGee frowned, considering. "The office Christmas party is next week. If we finish somewhere around then?"

Tony frowned. "You aren't going to give him that at the office party, are you? He'll probably read them aloud to the Director." Tony shuddered.

"No. Not at the office party. I was just thinking we could have them finished by then, and then one of us can drop them off or something, after work."

Abby considered. "It's doable. I mean, it's a little rushed, but we could totally finish, if we work fast."

"Well, the faster we work, the less time Gibbs has to catch us."

"An excellent point." Ducky nodded. "I think, if we want to avoid him catching us at the office, that perhaps my home might provide a suitable environment." There were nods all around. "Very well. Now then...the only question remains, how and when?"

An hour later, the plans were in place. McGee bid the others good night, then picked up the tab for the food and drink, and headed toward his own apartment. He couldn't help feeling a bit nervous, but there was no helping it now. He only hoped Gibbs understood what they were trying to give him, and didn't embarrass them all too much.

_**Author's Note:**_ _So...I've wanted to write this for a while now, but it only just came together. This is supposed to be the Christmas after 'Jetlag' and a sequel to my story 'Children in His Hands'. I just thought it would be cool for the team to give him something, to show him their support and care for him. And I remembered Maddie giving Gibbs the photo in 'Requiem'...and this just seemed to fit somehow._

_Will try to finish this by Christmas...hope to succeed._


	2. Chapter 2: Delivery of Santa's Helper

**Chapter Two: Delivery of Santa's Helper**

A week later, Vance threw the office party. It was a rather quiet affair, with everyone from the NCIS teams and associated departments gathering in the lounge. There were cookies, snacks, bowls of punch and sodas. Holiday music played, and people exchanged gifts. McGee was one of the earlier to arrive, having gone straight to the event when Gibbs dismissed the team. He kept an eye on the door, waiting for his boss to show, wondering if he actually would. Some years Gibbs came, some years he didn't. The gift giving could be done at any time, of course, since some people had no chance to attend, but...this would make it easier.

Finally, with half an hour left to the end of the party, he saw Gibbs enter. The man made straight for the drink bar, poured himself a cup, then glanced around. Ducky was already there, in full discussion with someone McGee didn't recognize, but he spotted his longtime friend and waved. "Jethro!"

"So, are you going to give him something now?" McGee jumped. He'd been so busy watching Gibbs move through the crowd that he hadn't heard Ziva come up behind him. He blushed at her knowing smile, glad he hadn't had a drink in hand.

"Um, yes, I was." He pulled a card from the inner pocket of his suit. "I got him a Christmas card and a gift card to a hardware store. I hear it sells really good wood and tools. I found it online, then went and got a card for him."

"I think he will appreciate it." Ziva nodded.

McGee swallowed. "Did you get everything? You know...for what we discussed?" He knew Gibbs was unlikely to hear him, across the crowd and the music, but there was always a chance. No matter what people said about his eyesight, no one had ever implied that the man had less than phenomenal hearing.

"I did. Tony turned in his part this morning, and Palmer gave me his just before I came here." Ziva nodded. "They are in my car. I will get Abby to handle the final details, and then I will drop them off tonight."

"Okay. Thanks Ziva." He swallowed. "Sorry, I'm just really nervous about this."

"I know that. After all, if it does prove to be problematic, you will have the entire team out for your blood." She grinned at him.

"Thanks for reminding me." He shot her a glare, but he knew the comment had been justified.

"Do not worry. I do not think it will be bad. In fact, I think you are doing a good thing, a kind thing, by giving him this. I think Gibbs will understand the meaning behind this." She looked across the crowd. "However, I think now would be a good time to give him your gift for the party. Otherwise, he will wonder why you are so jumpy, and then he will start asking awkward questions."

"Thanks." He swallowed again, then began working his way through the crowd to Gibbs.

Gibbs was talking quietly to Abby and Ducky when he made it over to them. Or, more accurately, he was listening while Abby and Ducky discussed the roller-blades Tony had given the Goth, decorated with little bats. He'd just come to a stop when Abby spotted him. "McGee!"

"Hey Abby. Ducky. Boss." He managed a small smile. "How's the party?"

"Oh, it's going well. Abby here was just telling us how Anthony brought her a most useful and appropriate gift." Ducky smiled. "I was granted the honor of gifting the Director's secretary this year. I do hope she likes what I got her. And you, Jethro?"

A rare half-smile cracked Gibbs' face. "Got one of the psych people. Gave her a written promise not to put send her any of my team. Or more than half a dozen of my arrests this year."

"I'm sure they appreciated that." Ducky smiled back, and McGee and Abby both shared uncertain grins. After over five years, McGee still wasn't sure when Gibbs was joking. Not always, at any rate. He was jarred from the question as Ducky turned to him. "And you, Timothy?"

"Um...well, I haven't gotten anything, but...actually, I came over here because...well..." he flushed, then pulled the card from his pocket again, and held it out to Gibbs. "Ummm...I drew you this year boss. So...well, I got you this, and I hope you like it."

"No need to look so panicked McGee. I'm not gonna yell at you." Gibbs shifted the drink in his hand, took the card, and slipped it open. He pulled it out, frowned at the print on the front, then handed it to Abby. "Can you read that? Left my glasses on the desk."

"It's adorable." She flipped the card open. "Hey, there's something inside." She grinned. "Right up your alley, Gibbs." She presented him with the card. "Fifty dollars to a woodwork supply store."

Gibbs studied it. "Thanks, McGee."

McGee let out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "You're welcome boss. And...well, Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, McGee." Gibbs gave him another small smile. The talk drifted into other channels, the group broke up to talk to other people, and, all too soon, it was time to break up and head for home.

McGee left fairly early. He felt nervous. A quick glance through the parking lot told him that Gibbs was gone, and Ziva was not. He sighed. The team had Christmas off, barring any major call-outs, which they were all hoping to avoid. There was nothing to do but wait, and see what happened.

**8888888888**

Gibbs settled down at his work table with a sigh, and studied the items that covered it. Abby had asked him to donate something to her favorite charity hospital for Christmas, and he'd said yes. Most of the projects he had were completed, but a few needed to be assembled, and there was some paint to be applied in some cases. He sighed, reached across the table, and began to work.

He'd been working steadily for about an hour, and finished assembling two more items when he heard soft footsteps on the stairs. He looked up as Ziva came down, carrying a box. "Ziva."

"Gibbs. I saw you at the party, but we did not get much chance to speak. Do you mind?" She came to the bottom step, then moved to set the box on one of his work benches by the wall.

"Nope." He gestured at the toys littering the table. "Wanna help?"

"I do not think so. I am not so very good with that sort of thing. I learned the basics, like every other Mossad, but I do not have the patience to be truly good at it."

"Suit yourself." He went back to his work. "Anything in particular on your mind?"

"Only that I wanted to wish you Merry Christmas. I do not celebrate the traditional holiday, of course, but I see nothing wrong with joining in a season of giving. Sometimes I think there is not enough of it. Although...all these songs about the reindeer...and the man..."

"Santa?"

"Yes. Him. It is quite puzzling, where this mythical figure came from."

"You could ask Ducky. I'm sure he knows the story from somewhere." Gibbs smiled.

"I am sure he does." Ziva smiled.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Gibbs working and Ziva enjoying the quiet. Then Gibbs tilted his head. "What's the box?"

"Something I am delivering for Abby." Ziva shrugged. "Since I am not as busy celebrating, she asked if I would deliver a few things for her, to help her out."

"She send you by to see if I'm finished yet?" Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "I told her I'd handle it."

"She did not." Ziva shook her head. "I was merely in the neighborhood, and thought I would drop in for a brief moment."

"Why'd you carry that in?"

"Because I did not want to leave it in the car." Ziva tilted her head. "Abby did mention that you would be contributing. I thought perhaps I could...save you a trip, I think is the phrase."

"Sounds right. But I'm not done yet."

"That is fine. It will do me no harm, carrying it." Ziva shrugged, then changed the subject. "So...I know Tony will be attending as many parties as he can get into. McGee will spend his time with his family, as will Abby and Ducky. What will you do, Gibbs?"

"Relax." He blew some wood dust off the surface, and studied the piece he was working on. "Carve. Spend the gift card McGee gave me." He set it down and selected another. "Might go see my dad for a few days."

"That sounds excellent. I believe I will relax as well." She smiled.

They sat in an amiable half-silence for a while, trading odd comments. Then Ziva rose from her seat on his stairs and stretched. "I think I should be going now. I wish you a pleasant evening, Gibbs."

"Yeah. You too. Night, Ziva." He was too busy pressing glue into a dollhouse frame to look up, but he heard the nearly soundless tread as she went up the stairs. Moments later, there was the faintest click and thump of the door upstairs opening and closing.

He finished with the dollhouse, set it aside to dry, and rose to stretch and grab a glass of bourbon. Then he stopped, frowning.

The box Ziva had brought in was still sitting on his workbench where she'd put it. It wasn't like Ziva to forget anything, particularly not something she was taking care of at Abby's request. And it wasn't as if the box was small enough to have been easily missed. He frowned again, then set the glass down and moved over to the box. If it was going the same place his delivery was, he'd text her and tell her he'd take care of it. If not, he'd text her and remind her that she'd left it. He reached it, flicked on a light to see better. One eyebrow rose in surprise.

The box was labeled, in what was clearly Abby's handwriting. Her special handwriting, the calligraphy she only used for very special occasions.

TO: _**Very **__**Special **__**Agent**__** Leroy **__**Jethro **__**Gibbs**_

FROM:_**The **__**Members **__**of **__**Team**__** Gibbs**_

He blinked, a smile curling one side of his mouth. Not only had she written it across the tape, to leave no doubt, but each of his team had signed it. He found McGee's precise handwriting, Tony's scribble, Abby's bold markings. Ducky had inscribed his usual flair, and even Palmer had signed.

The tape was across the top, and the edges. He smiled again, realizing that someone, probably Tony, from the handwriting, had written on the tape. 'OPEN HERE'. Then, in parenthesis, 'come on boss, you know you want to'.

The sight of the definite challenge had a chuckle sneaking it's way out of his chest. He had to laugh at their audacity. And he didn't question why it had been Ziva who'd delivered the package. She was the only one who had even a hope of pulling it off with a straight face. He had to admit, it had been a while since anyone on his team had managed to deliver that much misdirection so fluidly.

He chuckled again, then pulled the knife out of his back pocket and carefully slit the tape on the sides, then across Abby's signature. He flipped the knife closed, then pulled the flaps apart, and looked into the box.

Six moderately wide books looked back at him. They were arranged, dark-hued spines facing upward, each at least an inch to two inches across the back. And they were lettered. He pulled them closer, and realized that each book had one of his team's names written across the back in gold ink. It looked like Abby's penmanship again, as if she'd made an attempt at an amateur embossing job. A rather good attempt at that. He ran his fingers over the spines, feeling the texture and the slight indentation of each name. Anthony DiNozzo Jr. Ziva David. Timothy McGee. Abigail Scuito. Donald Mallard. And Jimmy Palmer. Six books. One for each member of his team. There was a small piece of paper tucked to one side, the official kind used for cards and such. He pulled it out and unfolded it, flipping his glasses out of a pocket to read the words.

_**Dear Gibbs,**_

_We__ know, __Jethro, __that __you __never __say __you __want __anything __for __Christmas. __But __our __dear __Timothy __has __come__ up __with __a __rather __interesting __idea __for __you __for __this __year. __Rather __than __risk __your __refusal,__ we __have __decided __to __simply __deliver __it, __and __hope__ that __you __will __accept __it __in __the __spirit__ with __which__ it __is __given. __So, __my __dear __friend, __I __hope __you __will __at __least __take __a __look __at __the __offering __which__ is __provided. __In __the __meantime, __it __is __my __pleasure __to __say __that __we __all __wish __you __the __very __best, __and __a__ very __Merry __Christmas._

_**Signed,**_

_**Ducky (And the rest of Team Gibbs)**_

He chuckled. "Christmas gift, huh, Duck? Didn't expect you to be in on a conspiracy." He set the paper aside, then looked into the box. His eyes and fingers found the spine of the book labeled 'Donald Mallard'. He considered a moment, then pulled the book out and flipped it over to see the front cover.

The cover was decorated with the letters 'NCIS'. Followed by: 'Team Gibbs'. Then, lower down, Ducky's name again. Gibbs studied it a moment, impressed by the level of work that had gone into it, then he settled back on the edge of the table and flipped the book open.

_**Author's**__** Note:**_ _So...the__ next __few __chapters__ will __be __everybody's__ scrapbooks. __If __you've __got __any __favorite __memories __you __like __from__ the __episodes...any __and __all __ideas __appreciated!__ As __are __reviews._


	3. Chapter 3: Ducky

**Chapter Three: Ducky**

The first page was a simple short letter, written in Ducky's neat hand.

_If__ you're __reading __this__ Jethro,__ I __can __assume __that __you __have __elected__ to __open__ your __Christmas __gift __after __all. __I__ do __hope __you__ enjoy __this, __as __much__ as __I__ enjoyed __putting __it __together. __-__Ducky._

Gibbs chuckled, then flipped the next page.

The picture at the top was a postcard, a small rural town, but nowhere he knew. There was something about the narrowness of the streets, the way the houses were made, that suggested a historical area, but again, not one he was familiar with. Certainly, it wasn't Washington. His eyes shifted, moving to the short note penned just below the picture.

_As __you __know, __Jethro,__ I__ was __born __in __Scotland, __in __a__ small __town__ in__ the __country. __At __the__ time, __we __had__ just __one __school __for __all __the __local __boys __and __girls.__ This __is __not __an__ exact __representation, __but __it __is __much __as__ I __recall __my __hometown__ being. __Of __course, __my __home __would__ be __much __older __now.__ And __the __schoolhouse...it __was __hardly __the __size __of __your __bullpen. __But __it __was __a__ quiet __place, __very __peaceful. __I __recall __as __a __lad, __my__ mother __used__ to __take __me __for __walks __by __the __local __lake. __Loch, __they __called__ it __in __those __parts, __though __for __the__ life __of __me, __I __can't __remember__ which __one __we __lived __near._

Gibbs chuckled. He had long suspected Ducky's family came from the rural areas. The man loved cities, and was far more comfortable in them, but there was a faint air of country doctor about him. His eyes moved to the next picture. It was a very old, very grainy black and white. There were five people in it. A young woman, just recognizable as Ducky's mother, holding an infant, with a man standing beside her. Then two boys, both very young.

_This __is __one __of __the __oldest __surviving__ photos __of __my __family. __It __was __taken __when __I__ was__ five __years __old, __just __before __we __moved __to __the __city.__ My __sister__ had __just__ been __born __then, __and__ my __father __elected__ to__ move __us __somewhere __where __there __were __better __opportunities __for __all __of __us. __I__ believe __he __had __just __received __an __excellent__ job __offer __of __some__ sort, __as __a __medic. __It __is __from __him, __after __all, __that __I __derived __my __keen__ appreciation __for __the __medical __sciences. __And, __of __course, __the__ opportunities __for __public__ education __were__ far __greater __in __Edinburgh __than __they __were __in __the __local __area._

Gibbs sat, staring at the photo. He knew about Ducky's mother, and recalled that he'd mentioned having siblings. But he hadn't thought much about what they were like. And he'd rarely ever heard the older man reference his father. He wasn't surprised to find the man had been a physician, like his son. He wondered if the older Dr. Mallard had been like his son in other ways. He moved to the next page.

That page had a close up of the man in the previous photo, though the gentleman was a bit older. There was a hint of a smile on the lips, and something of Ducky's way of standing in the posture. The shape of the face, and the waving hair, dark even in a black and white, were clear indicators of his identity.

_This,__ of __course, __is__ my __father. __Dr. __Jacob __Mallard.__ He __was __always __rather __proud__ of __the __name __Mallard, __in __association __with__ the __train__ that __broke __the __world __speed __record __around __the __time __I__ was __born.__Yes, __he __claimed __the __engineer __of __that __locomotive __was __a__ second__ cousin, __or__ something __of __the __sort. __I__ was __never __able __to __verify__ if __that __was__ true __or __not._

_ I believe you would have liked him, had you met him, Jethro. He was a very generous man, with an excellent sense of humor. Very fond of story-telling, as I recall. He had a passion for history. Many nights, when I was working on my homework as a lad, he would come and sit and tell me stories. We used to spend nights, sitting around the fire, listening to his tales, everything from historical battles, to Scottish legends, or even just interesting things that had happened to him that day. Indeed, I believe it was this nightly habit that encouraged my brother, Jacob Mallard Jr., to become a historian. I considered the possibility at one time, but I thought perhaps one historian in the family was enough, and in any case, I have always been a little more interested in people. The past is a very fine thing, but one must interact with the present as well. And of course, my talents in medicine were far greater than my skills in digging through books and ruins._

Gibbs grinned. "Just like you, huh Duck?" He didn't have much trouble picturing Ducky, listening to stories by the fire. Of course, nowadays Ducky was more likely to be telling the stories than listening, but there was that air of child-like curiosity about him still. And the doctor was right. Despite his love of reading, he couldn't really see his friend sitting in a library all day, or squatting over ruins with a brush. Then again...the man was always hunting stories from the bodies they brought in. He also remembered the few cases where they'd had to remove a body from cement, and watching Ducky's careful excavation. Perhaps it wasn't much different after all. He shrugged, and flipped the page.

The next few pages were post cards, and images of various buildings. He read through the descriptions of places Ducky had known in his childhood. His favorite restaurant, where his family had taken him for a treat. This historical castles his father had taken them touring. A postcard of the Scottish cliffs they had gone to for family excursions. He stopped to read that one.

_My __father __thought__ it __highly __beneficial __to __take __regular __exercise. __As __boys, __my __brother __and __I __must __have __climbed__ every __inch__ of __the__ nearest __cliffs. __Of __course, __we __were__ not __allowed __to __go __too __far__, __as __they __were __likely __to__ crumble. __However, __I __can __recall __many __afternoons, __full __of __exploration. __And__ of __course, __the __required __boyhood__ games __involving __pirates, __buried __treasure, __and __daring__ adventurers. __My__ father __would __encourage __us __by __telling __us __stories __of __famous __explorers, __and__ seeing __if __we__ could __act __them__ out._

It brought to mind the image of the doctor, wearing an eye-patch and a bandana. The thought sparked a smile, and a laugh. He flipped back, to the image of the small family, and imagined the sturdy youth in the picture, clambering on the rocks. He moved to the next picture, that of a horse. It reminded him of watching Kelly on the beach, when they'd all gone riding. He let his gaze wander to the caption.

_Once __my __sister __and __I __were __old __enough, __my __father __engaged __us __all __in __horseback__ riding __lessons. __My __mother __didn't __care __for __it __too __much, __but __he__ was __rather __insistent. __As__ he __said, __every __proper __Scottish __gentleman__ should __know __how__ to __ride. __Of __course,__ we __couldn't __afford __our __own __mounts, __but __the__ stable __that __lent __them__ to __us __had __excellent __staff. __There __was __a __very __friendly __man__ there, __I __recall, __who__ always __gave __me__ sugar __to __give __the __horses __after __our __ride._

Gibbs swallowed. Images cascaded through his mind, flickering between the doctor, an imagined sturdy dark-haired boy, and a slender red-blond girl. The memories of laughter and surf, and wild races. Kelly had liked to give the horses sugar too. A lump rose in his throat, laughter and sorrow mingled. He turned the page quickly.

The next picture featured two boys, both adolescents, or close to, dressed in identical uniforms. He recognized the insignia on the blazer, even with the roughness of the photo. Eton College, where Ducky had been enrolled in school as a young man.

_This __photo __was __taken __the __day __I__ enrolled __in __Eton __College. __My __brother __was__ already __a__ student __there, __of __course,__ making __a __name __for __himself __scholastically. __My __father __and __mother__ were, __of __course,__ very__ proud __of __both__ of __us.__ My __sister __went __to __the __local __girls __school __a__ few__ years __later._

_ You know, I never appreciated until much later, how fortunate I was to have an elder brother in the college before me. I suspect his presence helped protect me from many of the pranks that are sometimes played on unsuspecting younger students. He was, after all, rather well liked, even if his skills were more academic than athletic. And in any case, my aspirations not to be held in his shadow led to many attempts I might not otherwise have made. But I was determined as a boy to make my own mark on the world, and therefore to prove myself. It was because of this, perhaps, that I became so very involved in sports as a young lad. And of course, he was always there to cheer me on._

The next page had a photo of the younger of the two boys, dressed in a white athletic uniform of some sort. Next to it was a picture of a young man throwing a ball of some sort. It didn't look like baseball. Diagonally and lower down, the same youth was older, dressed in archaic garb that he very vaguely recognized as a fencing uniform.

_You__ know __of __course, __that__ I __was __involved __in __fencing__ as __a __young __man, __but __it __might __surprise __you__ to __know __I __was __a__ champion__ cricket __player __as __well.__ I __was __selected __for __my __team__ in __my __Second __Form. __That __would __be __when __I __was __fourteen, __and __I__ remained__ on __the__ team__ until __I__ graduated. __You __know, __I __was __a __fairly __decent __batter, __but __what __I __really __excelled __at __was __the __bowling. __I __had __this __method__ of __putting __a __spin __on __the __ball, __rather __tricky__ you __know. __Very __hard __to __hit, __according __to __the__ captain __of__ my __team. __Of __course, __it __was __all __about __the __angle __of __the __wrist, __and __the __delivery. __I __did __try __to __demonstrate __several __times, __but __I __don't __know __if __anyone __after __I __left __really __got __the __hang __of __it.__ I __suppose__ you __could __say __it __was __my __signature __move __as __an __amateur __sportsman._

Gibbs chuckled. He didn't really know a thing about Cricket, other than what he'd heard Ducky say about it. The doctor was very passionate about the sport, and still followed the Scottish teams with great enthusiasm. It didn't surprise him that the man had played. He looked at the small, slender figure standing proudly in his uniform. His finger traced the photo. "Bet you were hell on the field, Duck." He looked at the caption for the third photo.

_In __my __fourth __year, __I __became __interested__ in __fencing. __In __part, __I__ suppose, __it __was__ because __of __a __dare __by __one __of __the __other __boys. __A__ rather __snobbish __lad, __he __claimed __fencing __was __the __sport __of __gentlemen.__ And, __of __course, __he __wasn't __sure __the__ sons__ of __a__ country __doctor__ were __up __to __the__ standards. __Well, __since __my__ older __brother __had __already __left__ for __higher__ education, __it __was __naturally __up __to __me__ to __uphold __the __Mallard __honor, __which __I __did._

Gibbs chuckled. The Doctor had always prided himself on being a proper Scottish gentleman, even if he wasn't old money or technically nobility. He could picture a younger Ducky, confronted with the implied slur to his name. The way the man would have straightened and lifted his chin, pulling his shoulders back. "I'll bet you did." He continued reading.

_ Of course, being involved in the Cricket team, I did not have nearly the time to devote to it that some of the other lads did. Still, I can say I became moderately handy with a sword. I rather liked the saber, the foil was a little too light for my tastes. And, of course, with all my previous experience on the pitch, I had a rather powerful swing. I was also very light on my feet at the time. I can't say I won any great distinction in the field, but I fancy I did rather well, in spite of my late start._

Gibbs chuckled again. He remembered the way Ducky had handled the officer's sword from one of their cases. "I'll bet you held your own just fine, Duck." He let his fingers trace the image of the boy his oldest friend had once been. "I'm sure you showed 'em who was the boss." He reached over to snag his almost forgotten drink, his eyes lingering on the images, then set the glass back down and flipped the page.

The next image was Ducky as a young man, wearing a long scholastic robe over a suit and tie, and carrying a briefcase. The younger man in the image was standing in front of a large stone building, weather worn and sturdy. Beyond that, the grainy photo just showed the tops of buildings. He didn't have to guess where this was. He glanced at the written note, confirming what he already knew.

_This __picture __was __taken__ the __day __I__ entered __the __University __of __Edinburgh. __My __brother __attended __the __much__ more __prestigious __Oxford, __but __I__ suppose__ I__ wanted __to __be __closer __to __home,__ after __all. __It __really __doesn't__ matter. __My __parents __were __equally __proud __of __all __of __us, __you __know.__ My __sister, __now, __she __went__ to __a __school__ overseas, __in __America, __as __luck __would __have __it. __She __was __always__ very __keen __on__ going __new __places. __But __then, __that __was__ a__ trait __we __all __shared. __As __much __as __it __might __surprise __you,__I __was __rather __the __stationary __one __of __the __lot __of __us._

That thought had him laughing again. Of course, it was Ducky who'd become his mother's support, the one who cared for her. And he mentioned he'd been doing so since shortly after his father's death. But still...he knew Ducky had been a wide ranging traveler in his youth. It made him wonder what kind of people his siblings had been, that his inquisitive friend could have earned the title of the 'stay-at-home' son. He kept reading.

_In__ any __case, __my __father's __practice __was __in __Edinburgh, __and __I__ had __already __determined __I __wished__ to __follow __in __his __footsteps __as __a __doctor. __I __was__ therefore, __rather__ hopeful __of __having __his __support __and __expertise __to __guide __me __through __my __education. __Despite __my __desire __to __succeed__ on __my__ own __merit, __I __was __somewhat __aware__ of __the__ value __of __having __a __more __experienced __individual __to __help __one __along. __My __father __was __naturally __very __supportive __of __my __endeavor, __but __he __encouraged__ me __to __find __a __mentor __outside __the __family, __to __broaden __my __horizons. __And__ as __it __happens, __I__ am__ very __grateful __that __he __did._

The next image was a young man in his graduation robes, standing beside a much older individual in a suit. The older man looked nothing like Ducky's father. He was taller, slender to the point of being reed-thin. His hands were clasped with Ducky's and pride was evident on his face.

_This, __Jethro, __is __my__ first __mentor. __One __Doctor __Joseph __Armister. __A __fellow __Eton __lad, __though__ several __decades __prior. __He__ was __quite __a __speaker, __was __Dr.__ Armister. __Retired, __naturally, __because__ of __bad__ shakes __in __his __hands. __But __he __was __a__ very __good __man. __It __was __he __who __first __encouraged __the __practice __of __talking __to __one's __patients, __which __I __know__ amuses __you __so. __But __he __always __said __it __was__ only __good__ medicine. __He __believed __that __it __kept __us __from__ becoming __too __impersonal. __It __was __his __belief __that __too __many __doctors __were __unwilling __to __form__ proper __relationships __with__ their __patients, __for __fear __of __losing __one, __and__ that __it __made __physicians __less __dedicated__ than __they __should __be. __Truthfully, __I__ doubt __most __doctors __think __like __this, __but __I__ believe __he__ may __have __had __a__ point. __In __any __case, __I__ have__ never __regretted __taking __his __advice._

Gibbs grinned. He'd always wondered where Ducky had acquired the habit. Of course, he'd figured it was just a quirk, but still...he looked into the face of his friend's mentor. The quality of the picture wasn't that good, which was no surprise given the age, but even so, he thought he could see the traces of good humor and strength in that aged countenance. He looked down. The other photo was another older man, who looked to be a second professor. He moved his eyes to the caption.

_This__ man__ was __my__ primary__ adviser __and__ teacher __when __I __went __for __my __advanced__ training. __A __Dr. __Roger __Westford. __He __lacked __Dr. __Armister's __sense __of __humor, __or __his __loquaciousness, __but __he __was __a__ very __thorough__ man, __and __very __dedicated __to __his __craft. __Yes, __he __was __the __doctor __I __interned__ under __as __a __young __man, __in __my __first __real __medical __job. __I __can __safely __say__ he __taught __me__ much, __if __not __everything, __practical __I__ know__ about __the __profession. __He __was __a __highly __skilled __surgeon, __and __he __had __a __heart __of __gold. __However, __I __doubt __you __would __have __gotten __along __very __well __with __him, __Jethro. __He __was __highly __intolerant __of __people __who __wouldn't __obey __medical __orders. __Very__ fierce __about __it __in __fact. __We__ had __this __young __man, __once, __trying __to __leave __too __soon __after __a__ broken__ leg. __A__ horse-racing __accident, __I__ believe. __And __I __recall __Dr. __Westford__ telling __this __young __man __that__if __he __did__ not __stay __in __his __bed __and__ do __as __he __was __told, __the __broken __leg __would __be __the __least __of __his __worries.__ Yes, __it __wasn't __that __which __was __so __amusing, __but __the __way__ he __went __about __it. __He __informed __the __young __man __that __he __could __leave __when __he__ 'crossed __the __starting __line' __by __which __I__ mean, __when__ he__ could __use __his __crutches __as__ a __door __prop, __rather __than__ a __self-help __mechanism. __Of __course, __it __probably __all __sounds __rather __dry __to __you, __but __I__ assure __you, __at __the __time,__ it __was__ quite __amusing.__ But __then...such__ tactics __probably __would __not __work __well __on__ you,__ now__ would__ they?_

That brought a smile to his face. "No, Doc, they wouldn't. I'd have walked out anyway." But then, Ducky knew that, after numerous attempts to keep him still after accidents. They had clashed in a rather understated way over his recovery from the car accident only a few months ago. Duck had wanted to keep him in the sling for another two weeks. Of course, Ducky knew better than to try and pressure or threaten him. The doctor usually resorted to bribery, reasoning, or other roundabout methods. Chief of which usually involved telling Abby or another member of his team to coerce him if the situation arose. He started to turn the page when another small entry caught his eyes. He stopped and read over it, smiling as he did so.

_You __know, __to __be__ honest, __you __rather __remind __me__ of __Dr.__Westford __in __some __ways. __Your __dedication __and__ determination, __and __the __rather __no-nonsense __way __you __approach __things, __particularly __your __team. __Yes, __in __those __days __Doctors __rarely __struck __people, __but __I __suspect __he __would __have __been __quite __supportive __of __the __way __you __discipline__ young __Anthony,__ though __he __might __have__ recommended __a __little __less __enthusiasm__ on __your __part._

That brought another laugh out of his chest. "That bad, huh?" He took another sip of his bourbon, then flipped the page. His back was getting sore, from his position perched on the edge of the table, and he absentmindedly shifted, settling onto the stool he usually used when working at the bench, his elbow propped on the table. His gaze shifted briefly to the toys he was supposed to be putting together, the almost-done stack of presents, then he turned back to the book in his hands. There were still a few days before the gifts were supposed to be done, and he was far too curious to stop now. He let his gaze wander to the next photo.

The image was one of Ducky, in a full tuxedo, standing next to a beaming man whose resemblance marked him as the older brother, Jacob. Jacob's outfit was clearly a wedding suit, and the young woman beside him was obviously a blushing bride. She looked beautiful, even in black and white, and the two of them looked extremely happy together. He grinned. "Family wedding, huh, Duck?" His eyes moved to the caption.

_This __picture, __as__ you've __no __doubt __surmised,__ was __taken __on __the __day __of __my __brother's __wedding. __He __met __this __young __American __teacher, __studying __abroad,__ and __they __became __rather __enamored __of __each __other. __She __was __quite __a__ beauty, __you __know, __and __very __quiet __as __I __recall. __But __she __shared __my __brother's __passion __for __history, __and __they __got __along __splendidly. __I__ recall, __he __got __a__ job __working __at__ a __museum__ in __the __States, __to__ be __with__ her. __She __told __me __later __that __he __had__ a __habit __of __bringing __her __home __records __of __his __day __at __the __office, __working __with __the __exhibits, __so __she __would__ have __things __to __show __her __class. __Of__ course,__ it __does __not __surprise __me __in __the __least, __he __was __always __rather __thoughtful __that __way. __And __it __certainly __made __a __favorable __impression __on __her._

_ It might surprise you to know, however, that this occasion marked the first time I left the British Isles. Of course, we did have a small ceremony in Scotland, for my mother, but my brother insisted on having one in the states as well, for her family, and for my sister, who was working there. But I recall, it was my first trip, and I found it absolutely fascinating. It was this journey that inspired my later desire to see the world, and led to my eventual enrollment in the Royal Army Medical Corps. That, of course, came much later, as I was still a student at the College then._

That had him raising an eyebrow. He'd never guessed. The doctor was a patriot, and a compassionate man. He'd always thought that Ducky had become an army doctor for those reasons. That his desire to travel had been influenced by his brother...he hadn't ever realized. He moved on.

The next picture was his brother again, older, his wife beside him. Between them stood a small but sturdy young boy, clearly their child.

_This,__ of __course, __is__ my __brother's __family.__ This __photo __was __taken __during __my __Army__ days, __when __young __Ian __was __about __ten__ years __old. __Actually, __this __was __taken__ just __after __his __tenth __birthday. __I __recall __that __birthday__ very __well. __I __was __in __the __states, __contemplating __settling __down __here, __and __staying __at __my __brother's __house __for __a__ few__ days. __Naturally, __I __offered __to __help __with __the __preparations. __My __brother, __being __somewhat__ mischievous, __asked __me __to __hang __the __pinata.__ Of __course, __he __might __have __forgotten __that __I__ am__ not __terribly __fond __of __heights, __but __I__ suspect __he __did __it __to__ tease __me._

The image brought a smile to his mouth once more. He recalled Ducky mentioning the pinata to Kate, on her first crime scene with them. He also knew how much the doctor disliked ladders. More than once, he'd gone over to the man's house to hang something for him, or do repair work. It was his return payment for the number of times that Ducky patched him up after various incidents. Not that the doctor would ever accept it as such. He insisted on providing lunch and a drink afterward.

_ You know, it was actually Ian's birth that led to my final decision to enter the Army. Up until then, I had been rather concerned about the family. And mother was urging me to settle down, and find a quiet young lass to raise a family with. I hadn't the heart to tell her that I wanted a little more adventure in my life. And she was rather concerned with 'continuing the family line', as she put it. Ian's birth made her far less inclined to worry. Shortly after that, she and my father moved to the United States, and of course then, there was nothing tying me to home any longer._

He could picture Ducky's mother worrying about such things. He hadn't known her very well, considering she'd lived in semi-retirement. And even Ducky had admitted her mind had been starting to go since his father's death, before his own involvement in NCIS. But the woman he remembered was a strong, opinionated woman, vocal and quite insistent when she wanted to be.

His thoughts went back to Ducky. He knew the man had traveled with the military, and had seen plenty of action. He was fully aware that the Doctor had been in both Afghanistan and Bosnia, as well as several parts of Africa and the Middle East beyond that. And, of course, Ducky had been with him and Jenny in France on a few covert ops, as part of an NCIS special task force. That had been at the beginning of their relationship, but late enough for him to know he liked the man. After their return, he'd had a few more covert missions, but Ducky had retired to permanent residence in the NCIS Headquarters Autopsy. He wondered now if it had been preference, or family, or something else that had decided that.

He shook his mind back to the book and flipped the page.

The image was another wedding photo, though this time Ducky stood beside the young woman. Even in black and white, it was clear that Ducky's sister was every bit as charming as her brother. He turned his attention to Ducky's written page.

_This __was __taken __for __the __wedding__ of __my__ younger __sister. __Her __name __was __Sara. __Sara __Mallard, __who __became, __on __this __particular __date, __Sara __Hunter._

_ I don't speak much of my sister. I suppose it's because we were not very close as children. She was, after all, five years younger, and the only girl in the family. Oh, my brother and I were always very protective, but even at a young age, Sara was quite independent. She enjoyed going her own way, exploring new things. A bit of a scientist, and a bit of an artist. She used to switch between one and the other. When they started manufacturing computers, she followed it with great interest, as I recall. Indeed, her attention and enthusiasm for the subject is part of the reason I have been so determined to keep up to date. But she was also a painter, if you would believe it. She excelled in landscapes and nature scenes. This was, in part, what led to her becoming such a traveler as a young woman. She was constantly in search of new things to paint, new scenes to capture. She was quite talented, if I do say so myself. _

_ I do wish the two of you had gotten a chance to meet. You would have liked her, I think. And I know she would have been fascinated by your woodworking. She loved watching the local craftsmen in Scotland at their trade. She would have admired your technique. And I think, perhaps, that you would have liked her paintings. I regret, I never had the opportunity to commission one for you. But she had retired from active painting when I met you, and moved back home to native Scotland._

_ You should know, she also had an excellent sense of humor, and a very beautiful smile._

Gibbs let his fingers trace over the woman's face. "I'll bet she was a charmer, just like her brother." He grinned, thinking of the friendship he shared with the doctor. He was willing to bet he would have liked the young woman as well. He wondered what had happened, though he knew Ducky had mentioned he was the last of his immediate family. He made a note to himself, to ask Ducky about his sister the next time they shared a brandy or bourbon. His gaze lingered on the page a moment longer, then turned it.

The next image was a group of several men, all in uniform. It took only a moment to spot a familiar face, off to one side. Ducky, straight-backed, with the medical patch placed precisely under his regimental patch. Beside the picture, both weather-worn and battered patches had been glued carefully into the book. Gibbs traced his fingers over the numbers. The stitching was worn nearly to transparency, soft and delicate. The cloth around it was soft as his oldest polishing cloths, and felt thinner than tissue paper. He removed his hand, and looked at the entry Ducky had left for the image.

_This __picture __was __from__ the __first __regiment__ I__ was __attached__ to __with __the __Royal __Army.__ The __Royal __Army__ of __Scotland, __naturally. __Of __course, __Scotland __is __a __small __country, __so __our __troops __were __usually __attached __to __groups __with__ far __greater __military __power. __However, __I __still __maintain __we __had __the __most __dashing __regiment __under __the __command, __and __one __of __the __most __gallant. __You __know, __it's __odd, __but __I__ still __remember __all __the __names __of __my __first __regiment,__ though __I__ can't __be __sure __I__ accurately __recall __who __I__ served __with __after __that._

Gibbs chuckled. He himself could remember a startling number of names. The members of his boot camp training group. The men he'd first deployed with. The commanders of every regiment, black op and undercover mission he'd been assigned, though he recalled some more clearly than others. Regiment buddies and bunk mates, or tent mates on the longer missions. Drinking buddies and card buddies. The men he later wrote home to Shannon and Kelly about. The men he bought trinkets for, and received trinkets from.

His finger traced the list of names, going from left to right, and the odd comments Ducky had made. How one man had been fond of rolling his own cigars in newspaper, saying he might as well get use out of it. The man who was the regimental card sharp. The man who was the regimental 'lucky man'. The group chaplain. A small wiry figure kneeling on the far left was the 'go-to' guy, the supplier of things you weren't technically supposed to have. Or that weren't easy to obtain regardless. Ducky, of course, had been their storyteller as well as their doctor.

He found himself retracing the list, linking the names with the names from his own lists. Remembering men he'd served with, wondering if they were like the men Ducky had served with. Gibbs had been his own group's lucky man, until Shannon and Kelly's death. He knew, even then, that some of the guys had thought he was lucky to have lived through the blast. He still remembered a fragment of a conversation, overheard all those years ago as he attempted to walk off a bad case of insomnia.

_"__Gunny __Sergeant's __a__ lucky __guy. __Hell, __he __must __be __damn__ near __immortal. __Ten __feet __from__ an __IED, __out __that __long, __and __he's __up __and__ back __to __the __lines, __with __no __brain __damage __or __anything.__ That's __one__ hell __of __a__ tough __bastard.__"_

And a gentler, but sharp response. _"__Call __that __luck? __Didn't __you __hear __why __he __ran __out?__ Look __in __his __eyes __lately, __sand-brain? __That __guy's __not __lucky __to __live...he's __waiting__ to __die.__" __A__ pause.__ "__But __I'll __give __you __that...Gunny __Gibbs __is __a__ hell __of __a__ tough __bastard.__"_

The memory brought an old ache to his chest, but also a sardonic smile to his lips. He'd never mentioned, of course, that he had heard the conversation. But he had taken away one thing from that night. His favorite saying about his name. He laughed quietly. "Second 'b' is for bastard."

The memory restored his equilibrium, and he found himself flipping the page with interest.

The next several pages detailed Ducky's adventures as an Army medic, and later as a volunteer in Doctors Without Borders. There was more than one regimental patch, which wasn't surprising. Medics went where they were needed. Several stories were written next to postcards rather than actual photos, or printouts of online pictures. That was understandable, since cameras hadn't been as easy to haul around when Ducky had been in the military.

Some of the stories were familiar. The story about the south African tribal leader whose wife he had cured of a yeast infection. Tales of colorful island beverages. It didn't surprise him to know that Ducky had been to France prior to their association, nor that he'd been to Russia and Bosnia. And, of course, Afghanistan, for a conflict far older than Desert Storm. His eyes stopped on the note written in beside the picture.

_You __know, __of__ course, __that __I __took __my __turn __in__ the __battles __of __Afghanistan. __Of __course, __I __didn't __think __of __it __at __the __time __we __discussed __my...adventures, __shall __we __say. __But __you __know, __we __were __probably __stationed __in __several __of __the __same __places, __you __and __I, __although __it __was __years __apart. __I __wonder, __do __I __take __this __to __mean __that __you __were __following__ in__ my __footsteps, __Jethro?_

He was laughing as he finished it, and shook his head in amusement. "Not a chance Duck. I wouldn't even consider tryin' to fill your shoes."

Another picture, from France, looked vaguely familiar. It was a scenic view, overlooking a lake, with a vineyard in the distant background. He read the note, and laughed.

_You __will, __of __course, __remember __this __particular __location, __I __trust. __Or, __at __least, __the __general __scenery. __One __of __our __early __cases __together, __when __you __were __working __abroad, __in __joint __missions __between __NCIS__ and __the __military. __The __French__ Idiot, __as __I __am__ so __very __fond __of __calling __him, __who __disturbed__ our __crime __scene. __I__ was __able __to __trace __the __location __online, __to __recover __this __photo, __though __it's __from__ a__ slightly __different __angle. __However, __if __you __look __closely __at __the __edge __of __the __photograph,__ I__ believe __you __can __see __the __cliff __I__ pushed __him__ from._

He was still chuckling as he flipped through the next few pictures. Images of Bosnia, and Russia. Most of them were simple scenes, shopfronts and monuments, or landmarks, with a brief written note detailing what had made them memorable in Ducky's mind. The small bistro that he recalled as having a particularly delicious sandwich. Historical landmarks that had intrigued him, and prompted him to write home to his brother. Every now and then, a face and a name, someone he had known. The faces and names were as diverse as the locations. A young Russian man, bundled against winter, smiling tightly in the snow-studded wind. A dark skinned man in a short sleeved shirt, open to the sun of the savannah behind him, with a broad grin, and his arms outstretched to encircle a shy looking woman, and a rangy mutt of a dog. A gentle looking Arab with a smile in his eyes, one hand raised in affectionate blessing. A Frenchman with an affable smile on his lean face and a paint brush in one hand. And many others.

Gibbs let the names and faces slide by, content simply to glimpse the images, snapshots of Ducky's wanderings. He knew that all he had to do was drop a hint, make a general reference, and he could hear all about those days, in detail. It seemed like excellent conversation for the next time Ducky stopped over to talk, over a night of woodwork. Or the next time he visited his friend, with a bottle of scotch. Or even if he could get his father to visit. He knew his dad would like hearing Ducky's stories. Jackson Gibbs wasn't much of a traveler, but he loved a good tale, and Ducky was a master story-teller. But it was nice, to have a face for some of the names he'd heard in passing, and to get glimpses of everything Ducky knew.

Finally, he found himself stopping at a picture of a very familiar house. Ducky's house, until his mother had died. But it looked different. A little wilder, a little more lived in. But also a little newer, the brick-work and atone not quite as dingy. He looked at the note.

_You will, of course, remember the house. This however, was how it looked when I first returned home. Yes, my father had just passed away. Well, with my sister in Scotland, and my brother occupied with his own family, it seemed only fair that I be the one to care for mother. I had just finished our journey to France at the time, as you may recall, and so I came home. Home to this place. I will confess, it was an excellent house, if altogether a bit too large and rambling for my tastes. The furniture was rather too ornate as well. I did manage to replace some of it with more comfortable pieces, particularly in my own rooms, but as you may guess, we kept the majority of mother's furniture until the day she passed away._

_ This was, of course, when I chose to request permanent residence at the Headquarters, though you've probably already guessed that. But Mother was concerned, and didn't like me to be away for too long. I believe she was also afraid I would be hurt or killed, considering some of the close calls we escaped from together. And, of course, as her condition became more and more advanced, it became less and less wise to leave her._

Well, that answered that question. But then, he hadn't really doubted it, that Ducky had moved home to take care of family. The doctor was an extremely compassionate and responsible man. One had only to look at all the times Ducky had taken care of him, stitching him up after incidents, badgering him to take rest when needed, persistently talking him through things, even when he tried to refuse.

He sighed, turned to the next page, and his hand froze. The picture was the three of them, standing in a French street, he couldn't remember the name. Him, Ducky, and Jenny. A much younger Jenny, before she'd gotten harder, more like him. He swallowed, and allowed his gaze to move to the caption.

_I'm sure you remember this picture. Naturally, we had it taken before we got into all that fuss. But I remember this as being one of the happier times of my career._

_ I know that, for you, the memories are perhaps too bittersweet for easy looking. However, even so, I believe it does us all good to share such happy memories as they come, regardless of later events._

For a moment, all he could remember was fighting with Jenny. Her body in the abandoned diner where she'd chosen to die. But as his gaze lingered on the picture, the terrible images slowly faded, replaced by her smile. The days they'd spent in laughter, and later in love. The first night she'd returned, sitting in his car, laughing together on their stakeout of Ari. He smiled, a little sadly, but acknowledging the truth of Ducky's words.

The next page was himself, and Ducky, standing in Autopsy. And another one of him, lying on one of the tables, eyes closed in slumber, while Ducky stood in the background with a body on the table, dressed in scrubs.

_I lifted these from the old security footage of Autopsy. You know, we share so many moments like this, I think sometimes we almost forget how precious they are. After all, having you in my Autopsy speaking with me and going over a case seems rather common-place by now. But the truth is, we have both had some rather narrow escapes, and every case we work together is a cause for celebration. But more than that, well...this is where it all began, isn't it? The real foundations of our friendship. And I must say, I would cherish these moments for that, if for not other reason, and I would hope you do as well._

He smiled. "You're right about that, Duck." His fingers traced absently over the two figures, one in medical scrubs, and his own. Remembering all the long nights and days, blending together in the wonderful pattern that had formed a firm and unbreakable friendship. Not that they never argued, he knew, but the bond was there even in the worst of times.

The next picture was, not surprisingly, a picture of the team, in the field. Ducky had probably gotten it from any number of case files. Tony was always snapping pictures and random team photos. There was another one, of Ducky sitting in the Presidents chair on Air Force One. Their first case with Kate. And another, of him sitting in a graveyard, holding an antique, mint-condition rifle from the Civil War with a smug expression, and Ziva beside him. That had been the first case Ziva had officially worked with them. He smiled at the memories.

The next pages had similar pictures, in Abby's lab, in the bullpen. But then, he found one where they were all sitting down for Christmas dinner, at Ducky's house. And another, where they were toasting each other, a Christmas tree in the background, and decorations at the edges of the image. The warmth and intimacy, the camaraderie shining through even in the photos made him swallow a sudden feeling of nostalgia and warmth. He lingered on the images for a long time, his fingers running over his team's faces, and his own, so full of laughter and love and light. Such precious memories.

He turned the next page, and found it blank, but for a note stuck to the page. He took a drink, and read it.

_I realize that this notebook is rather full, but I took extra care to leave a few pages blank. These pages, Jethro, are for you to fill. Whether it is with past memories you find relevant, or with future ones, it doesn't really matter. These pages are meant for you to commemorate our relationship in your own way. I hope that you will take the opportunity to do so, and that we will have many more opportunities to add to this little collection._

_ In the meantime, Jethro, I wish you a very Merry Christmas, and hope you enjoyed this as much as I did._

_Ducky_

He eyed the note, a smile of amusement breaking across his features. Trust Ducky to remember how much he was interested in taking pictures. He didn't let his team know, because he was supposed to be the boss. And because they'd be forever nagging him with cameras if they knew. Tony, especially, would be inclined to jibes, suggestions, the same pattern he sometimes fell into teasing him about marriage and girlfriends. And divorce. It inspired a frequent urge to kick the younger man, or slap him just a little harder, but he knew it was meant in fun, and in caring, so he tried not to mind. Besides, he got his own back at the younger agent, on a dozen different levels, and figured it was only fair for Tony to have _something_ to harass him about. As long as he didn't go too far.

He flipped back, studying the pictures again, moving more slowly this time. His drink was in his hand, slowly disappearing. Somehow, when he looked at his watch, almost two hours had passed. It was something of a shock, but he didn't regret the time. He felt...warm, relaxed, happy in a way he rarely felt. The kindness of Ducky's gift, the warmth of friendship and memory in it, left him feeling touched and oddly off balance.

Finally, he closed the book, and sat looking at the cover, marveling at what a precious gift he had been given. Insight into his dearest friend's life, offered with no reservation or hesitation, and a dose of love and laughter. True, some of the images pulled forth bittersweet memories, but even that was a gift of sorts, allowing those emotions to surface.

He glanced at the box sitting on his workbench. He didn't have to pull out the other books to guess what they were, what they held. He rose, moving to look at the spines of the books. His finger traced again the carefully written names of his team. His heart was suddenly pounding at the enormity of what they had given him, all of them.

Suddenly, he couldn't take any more. The rush of emotion, of surprise and gratitude was too much for him to handle. He wasn't sure which he wanted more, a drink, or the solace of silence on his couch. Or even to walk out into the snow, to walk the streets and let the cold clear his tangled emotions.

He set the book with Ducky's name to one side, letting his fingers run across the cover again. Then he poured himself another drink, and turned back to the toys sitting on the center table. The feel of wood in his hands was soothing, settling. He worked for an hour or so, then rose to head up the stairs for some much needed sleep. As he climbed, he paused and looked at the box again, and smiled. Somehow, he had a feeling the nest few nights were going to be extremely interesting. And now that his gut had settled a little, he found himself curious. He allowed a small smile and a shake of his head, then trotted the rest of the way upstairs and dropped into his bed, still smiling.

**_Author's Note: _**_Ducky was just begging to be written. All the stories he tells. Brother and sister are, naturally, OC, and any name resemblance to real people is entirely accidental. Everything else is, I think, fairly cannon._


	4. Chapter 4: Abby

**Chapter Four: Abby**

The next night, Gibbs was back in his basement. He worked for a while on his woodworking projects, but the sight of the box full of books kept distracting him. He could have almost sworn the books were calling to him. Finally, he set down the sandpaper he'd been using and crossed the room. He stood a moment, looking at the names of the ones he hadn't read yet. Then he smiled and pulled one out. "So, what have you got for me, Abs?" He moved to settle on the stairs, and flipped it open. There was a short letter attached to the inside cover.

_Hey __Gibbs! __McGee __got __this __great __idea __of __making __scrapbooks __for __you,__so__ y__ou __could __see __what __we __were __like __as __kids. __And __as __teens __and __adults __too. __Although __I __guess __you __kind __of __already __know __what __we're __like __as __adults...anyway, __I __think __it __was __a __cool __idea.__ I r__eally __wish __I'd __thought __of __it __first.__But __knowing __you, __you're __probably __more __interested __in __the __contents __of __this __book __than __you __are __this __little __monologue, __so...on __with __the __main __event._

_Abby Scuito_

Gibbs grinned. On the front page, she'd posted a picture of herself, wearing a Christmas elf hat and grinning at him. Somehow, Abby managed to transmit her enthusiasm and natural exuberance through the written word. He could almost hear her speaking. He flipped the page.

The next page was huge collage. It looked like photos of multiple family gatherings, with people of varying ages. A teenage Abby stood in the center with three other people, grouped as a family photo, and the others had been pasted in around them. Gibbs studied the images, noting different faces and obvious family resemblances. Then he turned his glance to the accompanying note.

_So.__This __is __my __family, __you __know, __parents, __brother, __aunts, __uncles, __grandparents, __cousins...basically __the __whole __crowd. __I __had __to __copy, __like, __three __or __four __family __reunion __photos __to __get __all __of __them __together. __I __think __I've __even __got __a __couple __great-aunts __and __great-uncles __in __there. __Like __Great-aunt __Grace. __She's __the __little __old __lady __with __the __grey __hair __in __the __upper __left-__hand __corner. __And __speaking __of __family __get __togethers...I __really __had __a __lot __of __fun __at __those. __There __were __usually __lots __of __cousins __hanging __around. __Plus __Uncle __Matt __used __to __let __me __try __his __beer, __if __my __mother __wasn't __watching. __But __anyway, __we'd __sort __of __drown __ourselves __in __soda __and __lemonade __and __iced __tea, __and __barbeque __just __about __everything __edible. __Then __we'd __stuff __ourselves __with __ice __cream, __and __grandma's __home-made __apple __pie. __And __sometimes, __my __uncles __and __older __cousins __would __take __us __out __to __the __Bayou, __and __we'd __hunt __opossums __and __alligators. __It __was __great. __The __only __bad __thing wa__s __that __we'd __all __get, __like, __really __bad __sunburns, __and __that __kinda __sucked. __I __think __that's __part __of __the __reason __I'm __not __very __fond __of __the __sun __now. __You __know, __that __and __the __whole __Gothic __sensibilities __thing. __Anyway, __sometimes __we'll __even __manage __to __have __a __family __get __together __now, __even __though __a __lot __of __the __older __generations __have, __you __know, __died, __and __they're __still __really, __really __cool._

Gibbs found himself laughing quietly by the end of the story. Somehow, he could see a young Abby chasing down a crocodile, or sneaking sips of beer. His family didn't go much for reunions, and he wasn't particularly fond of large crowds, but he knew Abby loved parties. He could just imagine her, in one of her outfits, roaming through the crowd, hugging people, exchanging vocal and signed greetings. He studied the faces a few minutes longer, wondering which one was Uncle Matt, then turned the page.

The next image was a family photo, with four people. Abby, very young and dressed in a pale blue dress that he never would have expected to see on her, though she was wearing pigtails. Beside her was a younger boy, and behind them stood a fair-haired, pretty woman with an affectionate, motherly look about her, and sturdier man with darker hair, smiling at this children. Written into the caption were four names. _Me:__Abby,__:__Luka, __My __mom:__Gloria, __and __my __Dad:__Joshua._

He looked at the faces. He'd seen them before, seen pictures of them. And Abby did talk about her family sometimes. But it was interesting to see them together like that. He glanced at the note written below it.

_This __is __a __family __photo. __I __think __I __was, __like, __ten __or __something __when __we __took __it. __Anyway, __it __was __before __I __discovered __I __was __Goth __at __heart, __which __is __why __I'm __wearing __something __frilly __and __pastel, __and __those __prim __little __girl __shoes. __Although, __actually, __I __do __kind __of __like __the __shoes...Anyway, __this __is __just __my __immediate __family. __My __brother __Luka, __he's __about __five __years __younger __than __me. __I __really, __really __used __to __love __to __tease __him. __Like __this __one __time, __I __glued __his __head __to __a __hard __hat, __and __then __glued __it __to __the __ceiling. __I __used __superglue __too, __so __Gloria, __that's __my __mom, __had __to __shave __him __bald __to __get __it __off. __I __got __in __so __much __trouble __for __that, __but __it __was __totally __hilarious. __And __anyway, __he __did __eventually __forgive __me __for __it, __I __think. __Anyway, __they're __all __really __great __people. __I __bet __you'd __love __them, __and __I __know __they'd __like __you, __cause __you __can __sign, __plus, __you're __totally __cool._

Gibbs laughed again. He really could picture Abby gluing her brother to the ceiling. Though, he had to wonder why she'd done it. Abby usually only did things like that if she thought it was called for. He could still remember when he'd come back from Mexico, and she'd tried to handcuff him to the lab table.

He rose and got himself a drink of water, carrying the album up to the living room. Then he settled on the couch and went to the next picture. The image was Abby's hand, held in front of the camera. The pinky and index finger were straight up, the thumb extended in a ninety degree angle from the hand.

_This __is __the __first __sign __I __ever __learned __to __make. __I __think __I __learned __this __one __even __before __I __learned __the __alphabet. __Since __you're __so __good __at __signing, __I __figure __you __learned __this __one __ages __ago._

He traced the pattern with his fingers. "Yeah. I love you." Abby had never signed that to him in conversation, but then...they most often spoke at work, and he'd never needed her to say it. He understood how much she cared for him. It was in her smiles, her hugs, her greetings, her never-ending trust in him. Despite the fact that it was primarily a working relationship, she treated him like a second father, and he'd never had the heart to push her away. He studied the sign, a lump in his throat, then took a drink of water. "Love you too, Abs." He flipped the page before he could get too choked up.

The next image was one of a huge junkyard, filled mostly with cars in terrible condition. It looked like a wreckers graveyard. He turned his attention to the note below it.

_So, __I'm __pretty __sure __you __know __how __I __got __into __forensics. __You __know, __investigating __wrecks, __trying __to __put __the __pieces __back __together, __and __figure __out __exactly __how __they __got __all __smashed __up __and __stuff. __Anyway, __this __is __the __junkyard __I __used __to __sneak __out __to. __And __this...__"_ An arrow indicated a second picture, of a horrendously battered wreck. _This __car __was __my __first __successful __analysis. __I __even __checked __it __against __accident __records __to __be __sure. __It __was __way __cool, __especially __since __I __was __only __twelve __or __thirteen __at __the __time. __How __awesome __is __that? __I __didn't __even __have __a __huge __garage __full __of __equipment, __or __all __the __nifty __gadgets __I __do __now._

He found himself laughing again. "That was good work, Abs." He took another drink, then went back to the photos. The next page showed Abby, almost a teenager, wearing denim overalls and a dark shirt, kneeling with her arms around a rangy dog with a greying muzzle.

_This __is __my __first __dog. __Well, __technically, __he __wasn't __my __dog, __he __was __my __uncles, __but __when __I __was __a __kid __I __was __the __only __person __my __age __who __was __allowed __to __pet __him, __so __he __was __sorta __mine. __His __name __was __Bubba. __He __was __absolutely __the __best __coon __dog __ever. __When __I __was __ten, __sometimes __I'd __steal __my __uncle's __keys __to __his __truck, __and __take __Bubba __out __for __a __long __drive __in __the __country, __just __for __fun. __Of __course, __I __probably __shouldn't __be __telling __you __that, __since __that __was __definitely __a __bit, __um, __well...illegal. __But __it __was __tons __of __fun, __and __I __never __crashed __or __anything, __and __Bubba __loved __it._

He had to laugh again, at the images his mind presented, of a small, skinny girl sneaking out the door, dog at her side. Abby was fairly tall, but he doubted she'd been that tall at the age of ten. Still, he could imagine her taking a truck out for a moonlit drive. He just wondered how she'd handled reaching for the pedals.

He turned the page, to find Abby standing next to a young girl. She had auburn hair and deep green eyes, and an impish smile on her face that matched Abby's perfectly. The way they'd slung their arms around each other, it was clear they were best friends.

_This __is __Melissa. __She __was __my __best __friend __in __junior __high __and __high __school. __She __kind __of __liked __to __tease __me __for __being __a __bit __of __a __nerd, __but __that __was __okay, __cause __she __was __really __nice __about __it, __and __she __was __one __too, __just __in __a __different __way.__ More of the bookworm and crafts kind. __Anyway, __she __and __I __went __through __our __whole __tomboy __stage __together, __and __then __we __discovered __the __Goth __thing __together __too. __I'm __not __sure __she __got __into __it __as __much __as __I __did, __but __she __was __really __super __supportive. __She __just __didn't __like __the __tattoos, __but __I __think __that's __because __she __had __this __thing __against __needles. __Actually, __she __kinda __reminded __me __of __a __teenage __version __of __Kate, __in __some __ways. __Oh, __yeah, __she __also __helped __inspire __some __of __my __best __halloween __costumes __ever. __She __was __totally __awesome __like __that. __I __think __she __works in __the __fashion __industry __now. __I __haven't __talked __to __her __in __a__ while__, __but __I __really __hope __she's __doing __well. __You __would __have __liked __her, __I __think. __Scratch __that, __I __know __you __would __have __liked __her. __Maybe __someday, __I'll __get __to __introduce __the __two __of __you._

He grinned. The mention of Kate made his heart ache, as it always did. But then, Ziva had helped ease the wounds of her passing. She made no attempt to take Kate's place, but she filled the empty space with her own presence, a different sort of personality. He looked back at the picture, the two laughing girls. "I think I'd like to meet her."

The next image was of Abby, dark hair hanging loose, dark lipstick, and a black dress and heeled shoes. It was the most Gothic outfit he'd ever seen on her, barring what she wore to some of her more outgoing parties. She looked at home in the outfit, but she was much younger than the Abby he knew, and it was odd, seeing it on the child in the image. He glanced at the caption

_Speaking __of __costumes, __this __was __my __first __serious __Gothic __outfit. __Melissa __helped __me __dress __up. __Honestly, __it __was __supposed __to __be __just __a __costume __for __Halloween, __but __it __was __so __comfortable __that __I __kinda __started __wearing __it __to __school. __Plus __I __got __a __lot __of __really __nice __compliments. __I __think __I __would __have __stuck __to __the __style, __except __it __kind __of __freaked __Gloria __out, __the __whole __'bride __of __Dracula' __look. __And __you __can't __really __do __much __except __look __pretty. __This __is __definitely __not __an __outfit __for __junkyard __hunting, __experimenting, __or __even, __like, __an __actual __life __in __school. __It __kind __of __gets __in __the __way, __and __turns __even __the __serious __Goths __away. __One __of __them __told __me __it __was __way __too __Addams __family, __I __think. __Hence, __the __more __practical __approach __we __have __today. __But __I __have __to __admit, __I __still __really __love __this __style. __Although, __I've __gotten __pretty __fond __of __the __skin tight __black __pants __and __the __trench-coat __look. __But __that's __for __action, __and __this __look __is __totally __for __sexy. __Even __if __I __didn't __know __that __when __I __was __twelve. __So...moving __on._

He flipped the page to find a picture of Abby, surrounded by what was obviously a home-made lab pieced together with a junior chemistry set and some cobbled up additions.

_This __was __kind __of __my __first __lab. __I __mostly __scrounged __for __everything, __then __made __up __the __procedures __and __everything __as __I __went __along. __It __wasn't __really __that __effective, __or __accurate, __to __be __honest, __but __it __was __still __way __cool. __Only, __sometimes __people __would __complain __about __the __smell, __so __I __had __to __keep __those __weird __little __scented __light __fixtures __around __my __room. __Made __everything __smell __like __honeysuckle __and __roses __and __all. __Kind __of __annoying __after __a __while._

Gibbs grinned. Abby, like most lab workers, hated extraneous smells in her lab. Caf-Pow was one thing, since she could identify from anywhere in the room but everything else...she kept her lunch locked in her office unless she was eating it. After all, as she'd proven a time or two, sometimes the difference between clear air and a scent that shouldn't be there could save your life. He retrieved his drink and took a long sip, then turned the page.

The next page had no picture. Instead, there was a pair of well-worn ticket stubs, faded to illegibility, and a saxophone paper cut-out, with music notes. Gibbs felt one eyebrow rise. He shifted his attention to the caption.

_These are tickets from the first concert I ever attended. It wasn't that big, only a few hundred people or so. Of course, it was actually jazz, not rock, but we have jazz concerts like five times a day so it wasn't such a big deal. Anyway, it was the first time I went to a concert, I think it was with some of my classmates. It was really awesome. I actually like jazz, even though I don't play it much. It's got great beat, and it's really kinda soothing. Of course, it usually makes me fall asleep these days, which is why I don't play it in the lab. But I still like to listen sometimes. Luka is really into jazz, so he and I sometimes go to concerts together._

The next page was a pair of much newer tickets, with a guitar, music notes, and a scrap of t-shirt with a band logo. He recognized the logo, vaguely, from something she'd worn, or perhaps a CD cover. He glanced at the note scribbled beneath it.

_These are the tickets from the first rock concert I ever attended. It was way bigger than the jazz one. I had, like, nosebleed seats where you almost had to have binoculars to see the band, but the sound was intense. No one warned me how loud these things get, and I swear I almost blew out my eardrums. Honestly, if I'd been any closer, I probably would have. But it was so cool. This is probably the moment I absolutely knew that it was my destiny to be a rock fan. Possibly when I knew it was my destiny to be a Goth too, but that might have come earlier. And we actually went to this really cool rave party right after that. Being a drink mixer for my uncle gave me some really great skills, and it was fun to show them off, once I got the hang of it. Actually, I still do that. Not that you're likely to be very interested in lights but, you know, if you ever wanted a demonstration...I'll bet you'd be good at it, cause you're good with your hands and everything. Someday, I would totally love to see you at a rave party, with a glow-sitck or something._

Gibbs snorted. He knew what Abby was talking about, the light-show tricks kids did, and the sometimes highly illegal parties that sometimes went with them. Somehow, he couldn't see himself there, surrounded by people half his age, let alone joining in. But the image was amusing and he could admit, in the privacy of the basement, that he was interested in seeing what Abby could do, if only to watch her smile as she showed off for him. It reminded him of when Kelly had played piano or danced in the living room for him. He swallowed hard, and took a sip of his drink to wash away the lingering ache of regret. He had a feeling Abby and Kelly would have loved each other. He turned the page.

The next page had a whole collage of pictures. Abby, in her black trench-coat, grinning at the camera. Abby, tilting her head to show off her pierced ears. Abby, grinning at the camera from a mirror and showing off the cross tattooed on her back. Another picture of her seated proudly on a motorcycle, and carrying a tool box, and holding an award certificate with a medal around her neck. The page across from the image was filled with writing.

_I was a senior in high school when I turned seventeen, although, I guess you know that. Anyway, there was so much that happened that year, I could practically write a book about it, but I thought I'd just stick to the highlights. I know you Gibbs, you're a highlights sort of guy. But trust me, there were a LOT of highlights._

_ Like for my birthday, Gloria let me pick my present, and I asked for a tattoo and earrings. She was kinda leery about the tattoo, to be honest, but she was pretty cool when I told her what I wanted. She just made me pay half, since it was expensive. But it was totally worth it. It took about a month to get it all done, and another week or so for it to heal, but I loved it, even if I'm not really into the whole pain thing. And it was a great conversation starter, especially if I threw in one of those low-cut-in-the-back type shirts. And I got the awesome silver earrings with onyx and rubies. Actually, they were fake rubies, but it's not like I really cared. It was the whole 'female expression' thing that counted._

_ That was also the year I started working at Uncle Matt's bar. It was only part time and everything, cause I was a minor, but he was really nice about it. I got to help the bartender, and you've seen how good I got at that. I got huge tips. Uncle Matt and I made this deal, where two-thirds of my paycheck went to college, and the other third plus tips went to my first vehicle. I'd been working for six months, I think, when one of our regulars mentioned he had a Harley to sell. I totally fell in love with it, and made the down-payment a couple months later. A motorcycle's kind of a pain in bad weather, but the rest of the time, that was such a sweet ride. Until one of my friend's boyfriends kind of drove it through a living room and into a wall. Just cause I beat him at raving and knew more about rock than he did, honestly. He could have just told me to leave...well, moving on._

_ That summer was the first time I got into the whole volunteer thing, at the local church. They had a 'bowling nuns' group there too, and I kind of ran into them while I was out with some friends. One thing led to another, and before long, I was packing a tool box and helping out with welfare projects, like home repairs and stuff. It was kind of weird at first, especially the way everyone looked at me, but it was fun to, you know? I got to build stuff, and work with tools, and it was great. I'm still more of a power tools girl myself, but I can totally see why you like working with your hands so much. It's pretty calming, but it's also such a buzz when you get to the end and get to admire the results. _

_ Speaking of building stuff and results, well you can probably guess from the pictures that I entered the school science club. Anyway, we had that whole science fair thing, and I did this project on forensic analysis with home equipment. It was all about using everyday stuff to analyze accidents and stuff. I was really hoping to do well, you know, but I was totally surprised. I won the state competition, and I was third in nationals. Third, Gibbs! I mean, do you have any idea how cool that was. The scholarship money alone was amazing but the rest of it...it was a buzz even Caf-Pow can't compare to. Kinda like when you solve one of those cases that no one else can, or something. _

Gibbs laughed quietly. Academics hadn't been his forte in school. Hell, he'd been arrested for brawling more often than he'd come home with a straight A report card. But he did know the thrill of cracking a tough case. He had seen Abby having fun as she gave him the final pieces of a tough problem, and saw the solution fall into place. He thought he understood. He studied the two pages for a moment, matching images with words, imagining things as they could have been, for the bright young girl blossoming into a lively young woman, who'd seen so many things and yet, at heart, was still such an innocent. He turned the page, and his throat locked.

Two larger than normal pictures were on the following pages. One of Abby in a stunning black and silver evening gown, he hair done up with make-up and everything. There was a deep red rose in a corsage at her wrist, and she had her arm linked with a handsome young man who looked as if he were making an attempt at a slightly more formal junior dracula, and doing it reasonably well. She was smiling brilliantly. The following image was Abby in a graduation gown, her cap at a rakish angle, three or four cords around her neck, holding a diploma and grinning madly, her other hand extended in a thumbs up sort of gesture. Gibbs swallowed hard, and looked at the captions.

_This was my prom and graduation. I was going to put these with the others, but they're kind of special, you know? I mean, it's like a once in a lifetime thing, and it's also a coming of age thing, all in one. And, more importantly, it's something that kids really __**share**__ with their families. One of the last things, I guess. And I know you're not like my birth dad or anything,but you've been sort of my father figure at NCIS. And I know that if you'd met my dad, he would have wanted to share this with you. He would have said it was right for you to be there. So, since we can't turn back time or anything, I wanted you to have the pictures. To sort of...I don't know, imagine it by. _

_ I wasn't in the top two of my class, but I was definitely in the top ten. And the school made a special recognition for my science achievements, and my test scores. I was a National Merit Scholar, and in the top ten percentile for my SAT and ACT scores. That's what some of those cords mean. We played a jazz march instead of the normal stuff. My entire family was there, plus the nuns, and when I walked across the stage, they all smiled and clapped and cheered for me. I was wearing my first ever business suit, with heels. My dad and Luka took pictures._

_ I went to the prom with this guy named David. He wasn't a total Goth fan, but he was pretty interested. We didn't really date, we were mostly just good friends. But he was an awesome dancer, and he was very courteous to me. His dad rented a limo for us to go in. We stayed at the dance all night, and danced barefoot to the last songs, then went home and hung out until we collapsed. We even got my uncle to smuggle us some alcohol. We didn't get drunk or anything, but we did get to that happy, fuzzy stage. It was one of the best nights of my life._

Gibbs swallowed hard, his hand trembling slightly on the pages of the book. He could see it in his mind, like a memory of a dream. Abby walking across the stage, with a slight bounce in her step, smiling brightly. Abby waving to her family as she proudly accepted her diploma. Abby, dancing in her black dress, daring the rest of the world to dance with her, totally uncaring of what anyone else thought. Laughing and tired in her fancy clothes, but nowhere near ready to give up on a good evening. Abby staggering up to her front door at who knew what hour, her parents waiting indulgently for her.

He would have waited in the living room, if it had been Kelly. With a blanket and a pillow and a book to keep him busy. He wondered if Abby's father had delivered the obligatory 'you better treat my girl right' speech of fathers everywhere, on prom evening. He would have, though he would have delivered it with a smile. While polishing his gun and knives. He would have thought of something special to give her, for graduation, a necklace or something. Or a carving, a special one.

A single tear slipped down his face, mingled joy for her happiness, gratitude that she shared these special moments with him, even if it was simply through pictures. Grief, for the long-ago might-have-beens. A dull ache pounded in his chest, for the loss of his own little girl, whom he could have been there for. He swallowed a large gulp of his drink, waiting for the cool liquid to ease the tightness in his throat and chest, before he turned the page.

The next images were brighter. One was of Abby in jeans and t-shirt and biker shoes, clearly her first day at college. He smiled at the cheery, enthusiastic smile on her face. It hadn't changed in all the years he'd known her, that smile. The other was Abby, only slightly older, standing outside a sorority house, laughing, with a group of other girls. She was the only one doing Gothic black, with black lipstick and the edge of her spiderweb tattoo peeking around her neck, but she didn't look out of place, anymore than she looked out of place in her lab. Rather, she looked happy, surrounded by friends and makeshift family.

A quick turn revealed that she'd given him a picture of her college graduation as well, surrounded by family and sorority, and grinning proudly. The bright, happy expression on her face made him smile as well.

He flipped the page, and blinked. It was picture of the two of them in Ducky's autopsy. Abby was holding something, looking at him uncertainly. He looked stern. Ducky looked amused. He looked at the writing beneath.

_Do you remember this? This picture is of the time we first met. I had to go through a lot of old footage, then copy it to digital, then enhance it and pick a good angle for the photo. Anyway, if you don't remember, we met down in Ducky's autopsy. I'd just gotten hired, and I was really nervous. Ducky was really sweet, trying to make me feel at home. And then you walked in, and you were all preoccupied with the case, and all stern with that whole 'what have you got for me Duck?' I was really, really nervous because I'd heard all these rumors about you, but I'd never met you. And you were kind of stern, but afterward, it turned out I'd found some key evidence, and helped you solve the case. And then you were really nice. You clapped me on the shoulder and smiled and said 'Nice job, Abigail.' And I told you I liked Abby, and you grinned, like one of your big 'Papa Gibbs' grins and said 'okay. Nice job, Abby.' And it made me feel all warm inside. I really liked hearing you say that, Gibbs. I still like hearing you say it, and not just cause it's an affirmation of my work. I just like to know you're proud of me. _

Gibbs smiled, tracing his fingers over the young-looking face of his forensic scientist. "I'm always proud of you, Abby."

He flipped to the next one. This one was of him and Abby leaning over the computer table, clearly going over the results of her work on some case or another. He turned his attention to the caption.

_I know we have a lot of these moments Gibbs, but I just wanted you to know how much they mean to me. I love having you in my lab, even when you're frustrated and tired and cranky and need more coffee. It's just...I like having you there._

Another smile touched his mouth. "I like being there." And he did. He might never be able to handle Caf-Pow, and her music could deafen him, but her presence was a joy in his life.

The next image was of the two of them, engaged in sign language. He grinned, seeing a disgruntled DiNozzo in the background. Signing was fun between the two of them, but it was even better teasing DiNozzo with it.

_I remember when I found out you could sign. I was really nervous, I don't even remember about what, and I was signing and speaking at the same time, like I always do. And you just listened and told me it would be okay and stuff. I was getting ready to leave, and you called my name, and when I turned around, you signed 'It'll be okay. I promise.' And it was kind of awkward, and I could tell you hadn't used it in a really long time, but it was sweet. And you were smiling, and everything felt better, cause I knew you would always understand me. And before long, it was a game too. I think that was when I began to realize you had a sense of humor too. Well, around that time. _

A chuckle slipped past his throat, remembering. He didn't remember the first time he'd signed to her either, but it had been late enough in their relationship for him to recognize that she was a compulsive signer when upset, and frequently lapsed into it when she wasn't. He enjoyed signing with her, it felt comfortable. And she was right, it was a game. He flipped the page.

The next one was of her hugging him, at some random moment. He had no idea when it was, it could have been anytime in their relationship, once she'd gotten comfortable with him. Close to it was an image of him bringing her a Caf-Pow, and another of him leaning in to kiss her on her cheek, his standard way to acknowledge a job well done. A short note was penned below the pictures.

_It's the little things in life Gibbs, that are really the most important. Hugs. Kisses. Caf-Pow. Just...seeing you in the morning, and being able to gauge if you've had enough coffee or not by the tone of your voice and the way you look at me. It's all so incredibly important, you know?_

He did know. He thought of what it would be like, to try and live without that. It made his heart ache. It was one of the reasons he didn't regret his return from Mexico, in spite of how hard he'd fought everyone on it. He continued looking.

The next two pages were another collage, showing Abby with all the team members. Ducky. Tony. McGee. Ziva. Palmer. Even images of Kate and Gerald. Artistically scrawled in the white space were the words: _'Past and present members of Team Gibbs!'_

The next one was a picture of a restaurant. He recognized it, even before he read the caption.

_This is where you took me out to eat for my 25__th__ birthday. It was the first time you ever took me out. I was really startled when you asked me, cause it didn't seem like a terribly Gibbs thing to do at the time, but it really was. And you were really funny and nice. Dinner was great, and you even gave me a little present. It made me feel really special, that you did something like that for me. You even ordered drinks and drove me home afterward. Having you to celebrate my birthdays with every year...it's just one of the many reasons I love you, and look up to you as a sort of father-figure._

"Yeah. I can see that." His fingers brushed across the image of the store front. They'd gone Italian that night, at her request. Neither of them had ever been in the restaurant, but the food had been good, and the atmosphere excellent. He'd felt slightly uncomfortable, knowing they had almost looked like a pair out on a date, until Abby had smiled and started talking to him, making her seem younger than her years and shifting the perception noticeably to 'father/daughter' or 'close friend' atmosphere.

The next picture was a surprising one. Abby, sitting in an elevator, with him sprawled on the floor beside her. Not just any elevator, but the one inside NCIS. He glanced at the inscription, eyebrows rising as the words reminded him of the day this scene had taken place.

_You probably remember this one. When that weird jerk was stalking me, and had a hit out on me, so I wouldn't testify. I was really scared, but I remember this. You came and sat beside me. You hugged me and held me and told me you'd move my whole lab into the elevator if I needed you to. Even though it was impossible. And you sat there, even though your knee was bothering you, and you had work to do. You made me feel safe, Gibbs. You made me feel protected. _

She hadn't needed his protection in the end, as he recalled. Not then, and not later with any of the other crazy people who had threatened her. Only in big things, like when Ari had shot into her lab, or when the robot car had nearly killed her. She was stronger and sneakier than she looked, but he had no compunctions about being there if she needed him.

The next one was, surprisingly, of himself when he'd returned from Mexico, when he'd still had a beard and claimed it was a temporary return. It was a picture of when she'd chained him to the desk. He looked at the caption.

_I know you probably remember this one. You were pretty mad about it after all. But, it wasn't entirely what you think. I mean, we did need you, and I definitely didn't want to let you go, but it wasn't just that, Gibbs. You looked so lost, so unhappy. And I know it was because you'd been relaxing in Mexico, but I talked to Mike, and he said you were restless, even there. Honestly, I wanted to make things okay for you. Standing by your hospital bed after the explosion, and watching you leave...I really just wanted to hold you and help you, Gibbs. I was afraid you weren't ever going to feel better, and I wanted to make you okay again. _

He remembered her fierce love, the way she'd followed him, called security on him, badgered him and scolded him. It had driven him out of his mind at the time, but it had also helped. Made him feel better. Amidst the fractured pieces of his mind, slowly coming together, there had been her bright presence, a warm and jubilant anchor in his broken world. As much as he hadn't wanted to shoulder the burden of being an agent again, he had wished for her touch and her laughter and easygoing care of him. He smiled, and flipped to the next page.

It was another collection of images, this time of him and Mike, the team in his father's store, him. Images of him and his father. Images of her hugging his dad, and Mike. Laughter in everyone's face. He turned to the paragraph she'd written.

_I'm really glad we had a camera with us, and it didn't get blown up in the one car, when we went to see your dad. Plus when Mike came by. After all...these are your family Gibbs. Team Gibbs is family too, but Mike and your dad are special, you know. Even if you don't think about it often, they're special to you, so their special to us too._

He ran his thumb over his father's care-worm face, and Mike's sunburned one. Over the images of McGee and Abby laughing, surrounded by dime store stock. Tony talking to Gibbs Sr. Ziva smirking as his father kissed her on the cheek. Mike making a face as he perched on a desk. Dancing in the lab. Images of happiness. He'd felt awkward, sometimes, especially with the team meeting his father, but it had been wonderful all the same.

He turned to find another image. Christmas, a few years ago. He'd actually gone to the little team get-together they'd hosted. It had been fun, and he'd relaxed and enjoyed himself more than he thought possible. He looked at the caption.

_The rest of the pages are for you, Gibbs. I'm hoping to make a lot more memories with you, so you'd better hang around. Ducky says you're good with a camera, so bring it out. I want to see you snapping pictures for this, Gibbs! Okay?_

_ In the meantime: Merry, Merry Christmas! And A Happy New Year, Gibbs!_

He laughed and slowly shut the book. "Thanks, Abs." He caressed the cover for a moment, then, in a fit of spontaneity, lifted it to his lips and pressed a quick kiss to the front, as he would have done to Abby's cheek. Then he set it carefully to one side and rose. He gave the book a quick salute, tossed back the remains of his drink, and headed for bed.

_**Author's Note:** So...what does everyone think of Abby?_


	5. Chapter 5: Tony

**Chapter****Five:****Tony**

The next evening, Gibbs didn't even make a pretense of looking at his woodwork. He'd spent the day working, and thinking of those unopened notebooks. He knew, by the time he walked in the door and shed his coat, exactly which one he wanted to open for the evening. He changed quickly and got himself a drink, then flicked on the light and popped down the stairs. It took only a moment to seize the volume he wanted and carry it up to the couch.

He sat for a moment, fingers running over the binding, the name emblazoned on the cover. A small smile crossed his mouth. "Sure never thought you'd be in on this, DiNozzo." Of all the contributors, Tony had been the most surprising, with Palmer a close second. But he looked forward to reading it, even if it only contained pictures of girls and Tony's exploits (or imagined ones) with them. He flipped it open. The first page was a short letter from Tony.

_Hey __boss. __Before __you __ask, __this __was __totally __NOT __my __idea. __It __was __all __Probie,er...McGee. __But __everyone __else __thought __it __was __a __great __idea, __and __Abby __and __Ziva __threatened __me __with __unspecified __and __unusual __punishment __if __I __didn't __submit __a __book __too. __Knowing __those __two, __I'm __really __sure __I __don't __want __to __know __what __they __were __thinking __of..._

_ On __the __other __hand, __it __is __kind __of __a __nice __idea. __Share __memories. __Tell __you __all __those __stories __I've __never __gotten __to __finish __telling __you...actually, __there __probably __aren't __that __many __of __those.__Well, __it's __the __thought __that __counts, __right?__So...moving __on, B__oss._

Gibbs grinned. Someone had obviously helped Tony out a bit. Tony had rather...interesting handwriting at the best of times. His grammar and spelling had improved over the years, but they were still a bit rough, his typing was awkward when he was uncomfortable or distracted, and his penmanship was worse. He wrote his name beautifully, but not much else, not unless he was concentrating.

The thought made Gibbs stop and considered for a moment, going back over the words. They were pure Tony, joking offhand comments concealing that he'd actually put some thought into this project. He scrutinized the handwriting again, and recognized DiNozzo's formal writing, which he'd only seen on rare occasions. He felt a bit embarrassed at his first assessment. Help or not, Tony had put some definite effort into the gift. It was a sobering, touching thought, given how reticent Tony was about his past. He turned the realization over in his mind a few moments, then turned the page.

The picture that appeared was that of a huge house, surrounded by an elegant and spacious lawn. It looked nice, but far too large to be comfortable. He'd never really liked big houses, not even Ducky's house or Jen's townhouse, before it had burned. They felt to him like such a waste of space. This one looked like a waste of space, but also an affront to good sense and taste. But...he remembered Tony's family had been well off. He glanced at the caption, confirming his guess.

_This, __boss, __is __the __DiNozzo __family __estate. __Or __it __used __to __be, __I __guess. __Not __sure __if __the __old __man __actually __kept __it __or __not. __Anyway, __I __got __him __to __send __me __a __picture. __Told __him __I __wanted __it __to __show __to __Ziva. __It's __not __a __total __lie...I __did __show __it __to __her._

_ Gives __you __a __warm __fuzzy __feeling, __doesn't __it? __This __big __monster __of __a __house. __I __mean, __my __current __apartment's __barely __bigger __than __the __master __bedroom __in __this __place. __Still, __it __was __home. __And __I __had __some __great __days, __playing __in __the __halls, __escaping __my __parents, __exploring. __I __guess __you __could __say __it __was __a __decent __place __to __grow __up. __And __the __theater __room...God, __if __I __had __to __pick __one __room __in __this __place __that __I __actually __missed, __it __would __be __the __theater __room. __Giant __screen, __built __in __surround __sound, __plush __seats, __and __a __minifridge...it __was __heaven, __Gibbs. __Absolute __heaven. __That, __and __the __carport. __All __those __awesome __vintage __automobiles...yeah, __well, __enough __about __that. __I __guess __my __own __room __wasn't __so __bad __either, __now __that __I __think __about __it. __Anyway, __there's __way __cooler __stuff __to __talk __about._

Gibbs ran his fingers over the image, thinking. He could sense Tony's mingled fondness and dislike for his own home in the words on the page, but he'd known of that for a long time. Once Tony had relaxed around him, and the rest of the team, he'd been very clear on his mixed feelings over what he called his 'silver-spoon upbringing'. Comfortable, easy, and yet it had left him totally unprepared, when he'd been thrown out for refusing to follow the family vision. He knew Tony resented it, and sometimes missed his old life, though he seemed content enough at NCIS, as a senior agent. Certainly, he was proud of his work, and justifiably so. Gibbs glanced back at the accompanying note. It was good that Tony had at least some fond memories of his childhood.

He turned the page. To his surprise, the image that greeted him was one of Tony, much younger, in a Cub Scout uniform. Below the picture DiNozzo had pasted a faded troop number patch, and a faded rank patch, that of a Wolf Cub. His eyebrow rose. Tony was resourceful enough when motivated, but being a Scout wasn't something Gibbs would have pictured for him. It didn't suit his style. He glanced at the words written below.

_Hah.__Bet __this __one __caught __you __off __guard, B__oss. __Anthony __DiNozzo, __Cub __Scout. __You __should __have __seen __McGee __and __Ziva's __faces __when __I __pulled __this __one..._

_ I __guess __I __was __eight, __or __something, __can't __really __remember. __Anyway, __someone __suggested __I __'get __involved' __with __local __youth __programs, __and __I __kinda __wound __up __here. __Really __a __surprise __actually. __I __even __managed __to __complete __a __rank __or __two, __just __for __fun. __But __really, __the __whole __camping __out __and __selling __popcorn __thing...it __wasn't __really __for __me. __Though __I __did __learn __some __pretty __awesome __stuff, __about __knots __and __things, __and __how __to __start __fires. __Course, __after __that __I __got __tossed __out __for __getting __a __little __too __friendly __with __the __Girl __Scouts, __if __you __know __what __I __mean. __It __wasn't __like __I __meant __anything, __it __was __just __how __the __old __man __taught __me __to __approach __girls. __But __still...a __lot __of __the __older __scout __leaders __got __a __bit __annoyed __with __me, __so __I __wound __up __leaving. __Too __bad,__huh? __Then __I __might __have __known __some __of __those __'rules' __of __yours __before __I __met __you. __They __were __pretty __big __on __the __whole __'be __prepared' __thing. __Which __I'm __guessing __is __similar __to __your __'always __carry __a __knife' __rule. __Number __nine, __right? __But __anyway...can __you __imagine __it? __Tony __DiNozzo...Eagle __Scout. __Without __laughing._

_ Good. __Cause __I __can't __either._

Gibbs snorted. He could actually imagine an eight year old DiNozzo turning on the charm for some small, freckled girl with a cute smile. And, oddly enough, he could imagine Tony as an Eagle Scout without laughing. He hadn't been much for Boy Scouts himself, but he knew what they stood for. Courage. Loyalty. Respect. Service. Life Skills. Minus the camping and outdoors aspect, he suspected Tony would have made a passable young scout. Although, he was judging from the young man he'd met in Baltimore, and the agent he'd become. Perhaps Tony hadn't been suited to be a scout in those childhood years.

He flipped the page. There was a small, bright-eyed boy in a silver suit. He recognized the messy hair and the wide smile. He grinned at the bulging bag in the young Tony's hands. After years as a police officer and an agent, Halloween wasn't Tony's favorite time of year any more, but he could tell the younger DiNozzo in the picture had loved the holiday. He skipped down to read the caption.

_So...this picture is actually one a neighbor of mine took, when I was a kid. She said I looked really cool. Anyway, it was Halloween, which you probably guessed. I was like..eight, nine? So...here's the million calorie question...can you guess what I went as, boss?_

Gibbs shook his head with a grin. He could think of half a dozen possibilities, but he'd never heard this story from Tony before. He continued reading.

_ Actually, I was an astronaut. Can you believe it? Pretty cool, huh. I even found a motorcycle helmet to go with it. Oh man, it was such an __**awesome**__ costume! You really should have seen it. I thought my arms were gonna fall off, I brought home so much loot. Of course...I kinda wished they had, after I got home...guess I really shouldn't have made my costume out of my old man's jogging suit. Anyway, it was still a super cool costume, and it was an awesome candy haul. But enough about that._

Gibbs studied the photo, thought about the words written into the paper. Kelly had often raided his clothing, work supplies or equipment for little projects. He'd been a little irritated, yeah, but Shannon had always cooled him down. And he couldn't imagine punishing her too harshly for it.

Then again, DiNozzo's father had disowned him as a teenager, for not being his father's perfect copy. He couldn't imagine doing that, no matter how much trouble Kelly got into. Not even if she'd been the worst criminal in the world, or a complete psychopath.

He shoved the thoughts away. This wasn't a book for regrets or memories or pity. Not for DiNozzo, or for him. It was for special memories. However the night had ended, the boy in the image had been having fun, reveling in the praise for his innovation. He flipped the page.

The next page was plastered with a collage of DVD cover images. Airwolf. Magnum PI. Ozzy and Harriet. A few others he recognized. It only took him a moment to guess what they were. Tony's favorite series. The young man was an avid TV show and film collector, with a wide-ranging taste. He looked at the notes written on the next page.

_These shows were pretty much my all-time favorites as a kid. I mean, I really saved my allowance for tapes of these. Even did car washes in the neighborhood sometimes. It was a big thing for me. Of course, now I have all the DVD's, but I think I might still have some of the VHS tapes around here. Somewhere. Maybe. I might have stuffed them in the back of a closet, I think. Anyway, I used to love all these old shows. Still kind of do. They're really classics boss. Of course, my __**all-time**__ favorite, my number one, is still Magnum PI. Hands down. I mean, come on. The car is just __**so**__ cool. I've always really wanted a shiny red Ferrari. But the rest of them were still really great shows. I know you probably haven't seen most of them, so someday, we really ought to get together and have a watch-party. You know, just you, me, some beer and home-grilled steak, and my favorite re-runs. Promise boss, we'll start with the easy stuff. Nice simple action. You'll love it, I swear._

Gibbs snorted. He did watch TV, had when he was younger. Shannon had loved a lot of those old TV shows. So had Kelly. That was why he'd gotten a TV in the first place. He still used it, though he had to admit it wasn't often that he did. Shannon had been more into home-made videos, and romantic stuff. So had he, though he wasn't going to admit that to Tony.

The next page was a list labeled '**Tony's Greatest Favs'**. Gibbs chuckled. Tony had listed practically every genre available, including some he wasn't familiar with, and didn't think Tony would have been either. He ran his finger down the list, comparing it to what he knew of Tony.

_**'Top Gun'**_ was no surprise. Nor, really, was _**'Body Heat'**_. He was surprised to see _**'Sleepless in Seattle'**_ on the list. There was even a chic flick listed. And, of course, _**'It's A Wonderful Life'**_ holding the position of favorite holiday movie. Tony wouldn't have picked anything else for that.

His finger continued down the page, pausing thoughtfully at the 'young adult favorite'. _**'Iron Will'**_. He hadn't ever watched the movie, but he'd heard of it, vaguely. He knew what it was about, at least, and it said something, that Tony had chosen that as one of his childhood favorites.

The last two entries were favorite comedy and favorite random movie. He looked at the comedy one, and found only an untidy note.

_Favorite comedy...well, it kinda varies. See, I think I have my favorite, and then I see this killer, incredibly funny flick and, well, I gotta change it. Like, I used to think it was Austin Powers, then I saw Shrek, like a few years back, and that was pretty hilarious. I mean...the ogre and everything...but then the other day, I caught this one called Snow Dogs, and it was pretty good. So I really can't pick a favorite for this genre._

Gibbs smiled, then looked at the last entry. He blinked. "What the hell is _**'Kootch, Kootch Hodohai'**_?" He looked at the note written underneath it, and burst out laughing.

_Bet you just saw the last entry, boss. You're probably wondering what the hell that is. Well, it's Indonesian. You remember that time Ziva and I got stuck in that box, down at the docks. Well, we were kinda hiding out, but we were also really, really bored. We found, like, a whole ton of these DVDs in one of the boxes. I rescued one after the mission was over, and we watched it. No subtitles, so I didn't understand a word, of course. My Indonesian's pretty skimpy. But it was mildly entertaining, at least. And the action wasn't too bad. _

Gibbs snorted at that. "I don't think I wanna know, DiNozzo." he turned the page, and his breath caught.

The next page was mostly empty, except for a photo-copied picture of a slender boy with messy brownish-bond hair, standing with a woman who had similar eyes, and the same lines to her jaw. Gibbs swallowed hard, then moved to read the caption below it.

_You've probably figured it out already, but classic movies and TV time aren't really my old man's thing. He's watched his fair share, don't get me wrong, but it's not one of his main interests. No, he's more into the fast lane of life. But my mom...well, my mom was totally different, you know. I have to hand it to her, boss, she made sure I saw a lot of different stuff. You know, she was always real into the thoughtful stuff. Not like the chic flicks, but the real personal kind of movies. And man, she loved those old TV shows. Like 'I Love Lucy'. I remember watching that. And kid movies. She really liked kid movies, I think. Or maybe she just liked taking me to see them. Hard to say. _

_ Well, anyway, you've met my dad. Figured you ought to get a look at the other side of the 'DiNozzo Equation' as they say. You have to admit, she was a real looker, wasn't she? My mother, I mean. I guess...she would have been about your age, wouldn't she, boss? There's a weird thought. Still, I think you might have liked her. I know I sure did._

Gibbs took a deep breath, swallowing against the unexpected emotion. Tony had never talked much about his mother, any more than he himself did. He knew the younger man had lost his mother as a child, knew from his file what had happened, and guessed some of why. But it was one of the many things the two of them didn't talk about, by choice.

He ran his fingers over the image. Tony's hair was darker, but the woman in the picture had her son's wide and ready smile. Not Tony's teasing smile, his work smile, but his genuine one, like sunshine on a cloudy day. Calling up a mental image of his agent, he could see her in the narrower lines of Tony's jaw, the taller, more slender physique than DiNozzo senior boasted. But even in the image, there was a tilt to the head, an expression in the eyes that marked them as family.

Tony's mother. He studied the image. Tony was a few years older than Kelly would have been, but not by much. His mother would have been about Gibbs' age, perhaps. She had a laughing, whimsical expression on her face. Just like her son's on a good day.

He thought of all the things he liked, and didn't, in his agent. All the things he knew Tony had gotten from his father, and all the things he hadn't. A small, sad smile creased the corner of his mouth. "Bet you're right, DiNozzo." He did think he would have liked her, had he met her. His fingers lingered over the image a moment longer, then flipped the page.

The next two pages were a riotous collage of plane tickets, brochures, pictures and hotel cards. They came from all over the place. Maui. Puerto Rico. Monte Carlo. Vegas. A whole host of other places. It was like being attacked by a tourism guidebook. He blinked at it, then turned the page to find the accompanying note.

_You know my dad...well, he kind of traveled a lot. And sometimes, especially after I got older, he took me with him, you know? Well, actually, I wasn't really all that old but...well, you know how it goes. Anyway, I started collecting souvenirs as a kid. Because, let's face it, who's going to believe a ten year old who says he got into Monte Carlo? Or a thirteen year old who claims to have had a Maui resort suite all to himself for over a weekend? Plus, there was that time when I was twelve, and I saw the red light district in Vegas...on second thought, probably shouldn't tell you about that one._

Gibbs chuckled. "No, I'm pretty sure you shouldn't." he took a quick sip of his drink, and continued reading.

_Anyway, Abby suggested a record of my youthful adventures and wanderings, and helped me put this together. Kind of impressive, isn't it? I mean, a travel record like this...I almost want to hang it on a wall or something. These are some pretty awesome bragging rights. Although, there are a few later trips in there too. Like to Mexico, been there a few times. And, of course, that one trip to Puerto Rico, on that fake sword-buying expedition. I'm sure you remember that one, boss._

Gibbs snorted. He did remember. He'd sent Tony to fake buying a sword, so they could get information on a case that had turned out to involve a kid gone crazy with online video games. Tony had brought him back a game, an RPG of his own, written in Spanish. He'd donated it to a thrift shop a week later. At the time, he hadn't been amused, but looking back...it had been rather humorous.

He flipped the page, and a smile crept over his face. Posted inside was a picture of a huge hotel, practically a resort. Next to it, Tony had placed a postcard emblazoned with the words 'Welcome to Maui' and a crushed paper umbrella. He fingered the umbrella, a ruffled green one, then turned to the caption.

_So...this is the first trip my old man ever took me on. Of course, it's not like he had much choice at the time. School was out and everything. Besides, I think he thought having a kid around might increase his mojo. It's not like he was getting any younger, and he was kind of that in-between stage. Too old to play off his looks real well, to young to pull off that 'charming old guy' thing._

_ Anyway, the fact that he'd never let me tag along before...I'm pretty sure that's why he forgot about me for two days. Well, that and this smoking hot chick he picked up. Still, it was the time of my life. Movies, room service, drinks...and we were right next to the beach, with all these chicks in bikinis and stuff...boss, it was heaven, I'm telling you. Especially for a teenage boy. All those chances to fulfill your wildest teenage fantasies, and absolutely no interference. At least, not until dad got the hotel bill and came back to get me. Kinda went downhill fast after that. But still...this remains a truly unforgettable memory in the life of Anthony DiNozzo Jr._

"I'll bet." Gibbs laughed, picturing a teen DiNozzo, alone in a resort. Tony liked fine food and dining out, as well as pizza and hamburgers. He could certainly see him ordering everything from caviar to pepperoni pizza, and all the comforts besides. He could also imagine the younger DiNozzo turning on the charm for the ladies. It bothered him, the thought that any man could leave his son alone like that. But then, Tony was remarkably good at taking care of himself. He shelved his unease, and turned the page.

The next one was one he'd expected, given Tony's earlier references. Tony had taped in a cardboard Monte Carlo poker chip, with the name and logo in faded gold paint. Beside it was a stamped airplane ticket. He smiled as he read what Tony had written below it.

_You were probably expecting this one boss. Still, it's kinda too cool NOT to put in, you know? I mean...Monte Carlo. Of course, I was way too young to gamble when I was there. But the food was good, and the girls...you get the idea. I guess it's more my old man's scene than mine, these days. But back then, it was really cool. _

"Yeah. I'll bet it was." He looked at the lower half of the page, where Tony had posted another picture and note. This one was of the New York City skyline.

_Ah, New York. Always was kind of my favorite. Guess it's dad's too, since he settled there. But, I always remember it fondly. Maybe cause it was the closest to home, of all the places we went? Anyway, it's a really nice city, and I wouldn't mind visiting it again sometime._

Gibbs considered. He hadn't visited New York much. He'd been to the state a few times, but not the city. Not since his pilgrimage there after then Twin Towers had fallen, to pay his respects. He studied the skyline, tracing it absently.

He'd promised Kelly a trip to New York, someday. She'd loved piano, had wanted to play professionally someday. She'd wanted to see the New York music halls, all the big ones, so she'd know where she wanted to play. He'd promised to take her when she was older, if she still wanted to be a professional musician. It was one of many promises he'd been unable to keep.

Gibbs swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly. He set the book aside before he dropped it, then raised one hand to scrub at his face, as if he could wipe away the memories with just that touch. He reached for his drink and tossed it back, gasping slightly as the alcohol tried to go down the wrong way. He coughed a few times, then relaxed as the liquid burned down his throat. The familiar feeling steadied him a bit. He sat for a few minutes, regaining his composure. Then he lifted the book again and turned the page.

The next image made him smile. A full page-sized image of the Ohio State University Logo. Tony's alma mater. He knew the young man still spoke of his school fondly. He turned his attention to the accompanying caption.

_I'm not gonna tell you about all my school experiences boss. Too many of them anyway, since I was bounced around to various boarding schools as a kid. Never really did find out why. And the less said about the Military Academy my dad put me in, the better. I think he sent me there to 'shape up', for some reason. Really, the only fond thing I remember is the physical conditioning and sports program. No offense boss, I'm sure the military life was great for you, but it's really not my thing._

Gibbs snorted. "I'm not offended, DiNozzo." He had chosen to go into the Marines, and never thought twice about it, but he knew he would have hated it if his father had forced him into it. He continued reading.

_I guess I'm kinda glad I went there though. I mean, that's where I got into basketball. And it's mostly because of the training program that I was in good enough shape to get that scholarship to Ohio State. Not to mention getting on the varsity basketball team._

_ Man...I totally loved that school. I know that Physical Education isn't the most awe-inspiring of degrees, but still...best four years of my life boss. Not having my old man hanging over me, my frat brothers, the team...and of course, the awesome opportunities for dating. And the basketball. I know I don't play much now, but I really did love the game. Did pretty well too. Did I ever tell you we got all the way to the Final Four one season? I mean, you probably know about that but...it was a rush boss. I mean, really._

_ Of course, that was right before I doubled as an impromptu running back for the football team, and got my leg broken by some 300 pound linebacker whose name I can't even remember. Some guy from Michigan. Didn't do so hot athletically after that. But hey, it was still fun. And when you think about it, if it hadn't been for basketball, nothing else ever would have happened._

_ I wouldn't have been at the one town. I wouldn't have seen a house fire and tried to save two little kids. I wouldn't have realized what I really wanted to do with my life. Weird, huh? Before Ohio State, all I planned to do was play ball and goof off. Instead, I found my calling, graduated, became a cop. And that...that led me to you. Funny, isn't it? If I hadn't been an athlete in college, I never could have caught up to you that day. Some other guy would have brought you in, and we never would have met. _

Gibbs swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. He knew how fond Tony was of the school, but he'd never connected it to the relationship they shared. Of course, the road between college and Tony's appearance at NCIS had been a lot more complicated than that. But he still remembered the first day, when Tony had knocked him to the ground after a four block chase. He wondered what it would have been like, if that hadn't happened, but it was too hard to imagine. Life without Tony on his six, at his back, supporting him. He couldn't picture it. It reminded him of how many times Tony had saved his life, supported him. He shook his head and turned the page before the maudlin sentiments could overwhelm him.

The next page had another large logo on it, above Greek symbols and scrawled a inscription of 'Alpha Chi Delta'. It was surrounded by pictures of young men and women. Gibbs grinned. Tony's fraternity. Tony still took a week every so often to go 'out with the guys'. And sometimes, he'd gotten vital information through his fraternity connections. Even cracked a case with it at least once, when a criminal they needed to interview turned out to be a brother of the house. He started to turn to read the message, then stopped, his eyes caught by one particular photo.

Familiar brown eyes smiled up at him, from an image he'd seen once before. Kate Todd, standing in a bar, participating in a wet t-shirt contest. She was laughing, with the people around her. Younger than when she'd been his agent. He swallowed hard, and forced himself to turn to the message DiNozzo had left for him.

_Alpha Chi Delta. My fraternity. It's really kinda like a family in some ways. Did a better job than my old man I think. But man, I loved these guys. We had such a blast. Course, you probably don't approve of the beer pong, or the late night parties, or the pranking. But still, I had some really great times. And we did other stuff too. We pooled resources, took classes together, helped with homework. Not a lot of homework, mind, but some. Watched movies together. Supported our freshmen, after a little friendly hazing, of course. I swear, we were pretty harmless in that department. Mild stuff, mostly embarrassing, not harmful. And even now, it's like this huge information and support group. We all see each other on Facebook, have each other on speed dial, emails, stuff like that. It's really helpful._

_ And, of course, there's Spring Break. I know it drives you crazy sometimes boss, but it's just one of those things you do. Every year, a cruise to Panama City for a week of fun in the sun, and some seriously wild parties. Which, if you think about it, a lot of our alumni need. I mean, some of us have some pretty stressful day jobs, and a week to cut back and relax, get a little wild...well, you could say it's just what the doctor ordered. _

It was true that Dinozzo usually came back from those trips in a much better frame of mind. And while he required a few head-slaps to keep him focused, it was still good to see him so calm and relaxed and happy. Especially with the way some cases could tear them up. He kept reading.

_You've probably noticed the one picture by now. Yes, that really is our very own Caitlin Todd. You probably remember, the Spring Break I took while she was with us. She just kept teasing me about how immature it was, going on beer bongs and 'clubbing like an adolescent half your age' is how I think she put it. Well, we were at our favorite club, and I happened to stumble over to the 'Wet T-Shirt Winners Hall of Fame'. And there she was boss, large as life. Winner of 19...1989 or 1990, I think. Can't really remember, actually. She was a real winner boss. But then, I guess it's not hard to tell why, looking at that smile. _

_ I remember, I set a brother of mine up with her once, as kind of this little...well, I'm not sure if it was really a joke. Seemed funny at the time. Turned out to be a nice thing though. I heard they had a real good time. Wasn't that long before Ari got to her. I'd like to think that me and my brothers gave her some good memories, you know?_

He remembered those arguments, over Spring Break, DiNozzo's frat brother, over anything at all. And yet, irritating as they had been, they had been in fun. He'd never been able to shake the feeling that all the fighting was part of something closer than mere partners on the job. He traced Kate's smile, his own sad. "I'm sure you did a great job of making her happy, Tony." She had spoken contentedly of those dates. And if he'd eventually had to ban any discussion of Spring Break and college life from the bull pen, he still had no doubt she, at least, had gotten a great deal of fun out of the verbal warfare with her senior agent.

The next photo was a familiar one. A disgruntled Caitlin Todd, wearing a business suit and skirt in combination with heavy work boots, an NCIS field jacket, and a baseball cap. Gibbs chuckled, and moved to the paragraph below.

_Remember this, Boss? Probie Kate's first official assignment. Man, I teased her so hard about this outfit. Especially when she had to go up the ladder to help Ducky. I got the greatest view...but yo probably don't want to hear anything more about that. So...moving on._

The next picture was an older one, the edges worn and wrinkled. Gibbs felt a smile break over his face. The image was of himself and Tony, with another man hovering in the background as they faced each other across a desk. He was wearing a battered set of jeans and a sweatshirt, as well as a rough-knit stocking cap. Tony was in casual pants and a leather jacket.

He didn't need to read the inscription below to know what _that _image was, but he did anyway.

_Speaking of firsts, I almost forgot this one. But really, how could I possibly leave this one out? Our first meeting, in Baltimore PD._

_ You really did have a knack for undercover. I swear, I was absolutely sure that you were a drug runner. I guess I was right, about the runner part at least. Had to chase you...what was it? Three blocks? Four? I don't remember the exact numbers, but you were pretty fast on your feet._

_ You know, that was a pretty tough case, and to be honest, I kinda hated the ending. But still...I don't regret the way things turned out. After all, I got to come be on your team boss. And really, I have to say, it's the best gig I ever had._

Gibbs traced the words, remembering. He'd felt sorry for the young detective whose partner had betrayed him. And he'd admired the young man as well. "I don't regret the way things turned out either, DiNozzo. Just wish I could do more for you." he sighed, then turned the page.

The next two pages were a collage of images. Tony, shaking hands with Ducky. It was early enough in his career that Tony had still been wearing a leather jacket. Tony, standing in the doorway to Abby's lab, an apprehensive look on his face. Abby was wearing a barely tolerant and dangerously amused expression.

Tony, standing in a parking lot, a frown of concentration on his face as he studied a body. Then another image, much later, of Tony sitting on a desk in an ME uniform that was too small for him, right next to a younger, softer looking McGee. Tony's expression was full of fiendish amusement, and McGee looked apprehensive.

The next two photos were obviously surveillance from the bullpen. One showed Tony greeting a red-haired woman. The other showed Tony and Ziva. Tony looked tired and rumpled. Ziva looked casual, relaxed and playful as she leaned back in McGee's chair.

Gibbs turned his attention to the following note.

_Now that I think about it, there have been a lot of firsts since I met you. A lot of good things. Which is kinda what these photos are all about. So, from the upper left to the lower right:_

_ The first time I met Ducky. Did you know that I used to get kinda queasy in Autopsy? Besides, back then I couldn't even begin to keep up with him. All those stories and all..._

_ The first time I met Abby. I really think she didn't like me at first. She certainly didn't trust me in her lab. I guess I made it too obvious, how surprised I was to find a Goth doing forensic work. And that joke about how many of them we arrested on Halloween might not have gone over too well. Still, at least she warmed up to me after a while._

_ The first time you ever let me take the lead on a case. I mean, I'd done my own stuff in Baltimore, and other places. But there was just something different about it that time. Something...I don't know, more real. Cooler. _

_ The first time I met McGee. Honestly, he was such an easy mark. Poor little Probie. He wasso nervous. I swear, I had the kid completely terrified, and absolutely in awe of me. Of course, he's all grown up now, our little Timothy, but I still remember that._

_ The first time I met Jenny. I couldn't believe she was our new Director. I almost seriously embarrassed myself. Honestly, I don't know what I would have said if you hadn't warned me. Probably something really stupid._

_ The first time I met Ziva. You weren't there at the time, think you went home to get a fresh shirt. That was a pretty rough couple of days. But, you know, I really did embarrass myself with her. Not going to tell you how, but I'm pretty sure she'll never let me live it down, even if she hasn't said anything for a while. I didn't like her at first, what with her being there to stop us from chasing Ari. Still, I'm really glad I met her._

Gibbs nodded. "I'm glad I met her too." He let his eyes drift over the photos.

He remembered all those events. Ducky's enthusiasm, Abby's caustic humor when Tony stuck his foot in his mouth. McGee, standing on a pier with a half-dissolved body, face pale and worried. Jenny, and the early days with Ziva. Those days had special places in his heart too.

He turned the page, then blinked in surprise. No pictures, just another long note scrolling over the page. He read through it, feeling his throat close up as he did so.

_There are a lot of other firsts, Boss, that I never caught on camera. The first time you head-slapped me. The first time you let me drive. The fist time you scolded me for getting sidetracked by a pretty girl._

_ The first time you said 'Well done, DiNozzo.'_

_ The first time you smiled at me, relaxed enough to tease me like your friend, instead of just your junior agent. The first time you laughed with me._

_ The first time you carried me out of a bad situation._

_ The first plane ride we took together, slung in cargo hammocks with me puking my guts out. And the first time we had to go out to sea, when I got so hopelessly lost on the carrier. You were kinda short with me, but you were pretty understanding too._

_ The first time I watched you sleep, and knew you trusted me to watch your back, cause you'd never sleep if you didn't. _

_ The first time you let me in your house, showed me your boat, and sat down to have a drink with me. The first time you made me feel welcome in your life, not just the job. The first time you sat me down, gave me coffee, a lecture, and some really good advice._

_ The first time you started teaching me the rules. 1 through 50. Never screw over your partner. Always carry a knife. All the others. _

_ There have been a lot of firsts, haven't there? I remember so many of them. I can't quite explain it, but even the negative ones mean something. They're part of something special. Something I wouldn't give up, not for all the money in the world, or the most fascinating woman. There's no way I'd ever say this out loud, Gibbs, but I want you to know that._

Gibbs swallowed hard. His eyes were stinging, and he rubbed them with the sleeved of his sweatshirt.

He remembered those moments too. Patchy and disjointed as the memories were, they'd been some of the first things he had remembered after the explosion all those years ago. Looking back now, he didn't understand why he'd been willing to let go of those memories. For all the pain he had endured on the job, memories like this were worth every drop of sweat and blood and tears. He ran his fingers over the page, feeling the slight indentation of the writing. "I know Tony. I remember it too."

The next page had a dim, dark image. Gibbs studied it a moment, his stomach clenching as he recognized it. The isolation ward in the hospital.

The image was of several figures, grouped around a single one on the bed. A doctor in a white lab coat, and two nurses. One young woman wearing hospital pajamas, cradled in an older man's arms. Kate, being held by Ducky. And himself, standing on the far side of the bed as the doctor looked on, talking to the figure lying there. Talking to Tony.

_Remember this, Boss? Pretty sure you do. After all, someone getting the plague is pretty damn hard to forget. I'm pretty sure I never will._

_ There are a lot of things about that experience I'd like to forget. But...there's one thing I remember that I hope I never forget. Besides the fact that darling little Kate kept me company. And she always claimed not to like me. But besides that..._

_ You were there for me, Gibbs. Ducky told me how you busted your ass trying to find answers, so you could save me. Trying to find a cure. How you practically broke down the doors to that one company. That's kind of cool. But really, what I remember most is this._

_ You came for me. I could barely breathe, thought for sure I was gonna die. And then you were there, holding my hand. Told me that the virus was dead. That I couldn't hurt anyone. Told me I wasn't allowed to die on you. Not the most sentimental thing in the world, I'll admit, but maybe the most important thing I've ever heard someone say. And I'm pretty sure it saved my life. I don't know if I ever told you thanks for that. So..._

_ Thanks, Gibbs. You saved me. _

Gibbs swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. "You don't need to thank me, Tony. That's what your team is for."

He wondered if he'd ever thanked Tony for saving him. He'd drowned once. It was true that Shannon and Kelly had sent him back, but it had been Tony who had pulled him from the water and given him CPR. Maybe his agent hadn't called him back from wherever he'd gone, but he doubted he'd have been able to come back if Tony hadn't rescued his body. He took a drink to try and loosen the tightness in his throat, then turned the page. "You saved me too, DiNozzo."

The next page was another collage, this one of holiday scenes. Thanksgiving at Ducky's house. Christmas at the office, in the bullpen, or watching movies in MTAC. New Years parties, where they all managed a glass of something alcoholic and toasted each other. The rare Valentines or Halloween, including the Halloween where McGee had spent the whole time dressed in a partial outfit of a snow elf. Tony had gotten bullpen footage of himself and Ziva with parts of Timothy's costume on. And another picture of the same, when they'd brought the little girl they'd rescued in and done an impromptu trick-or-treat for the child.

The page opposite was a collage of everyday moments. Working in the bullpen. Out on cases. Standing around the flat-screen, expounding theories. Laughing together. Talking. Out in the field in official gear, or the informal stuff they wore when they were on call and got summoned in. Images of him with the camera, or McGee. Drinking coffee. Leaning over Abby's shoulder in the lab. Talking to Ducky in Autopsy. Moments and snapshots that made up their everyday lives. He studied it a moment, looking at the faces, the moments captured and frozen in time. Then he turned the page.

_There's a lot more stuff I could reminisce about. But most of the important bits, you know already. There's a lot of little, personal stuff I could put in here. Girlfriends, nights on the town, picking up new music or going shopping for new suits. But hey, you've seen my duds, and you've heard all my stories. Well, most of them. You've even been beside me on a few of those._

_ Besides, I wouldn't want to get too sentimental and all. That's really kinda more Abby's field than mine. You and me, Boss, we're more of the beer and tall tales types. _

_ So...I just wanted you to have this little reminder of all the stuff we've shared. All those long days on those clocks. The all-nighters, the twelve hour shifts, those long hour stakeouts. The little things that make up this job, and all the good, and not so good, moments in it. _

_ Plus a reminder of the special times. I'll admit, holidays together aren't always my favorite way to celebrate. Still, we've had some good times. Laughed together, cried together. Swapped presents. Swapped jokes. Even gotten a little drunk. But I guess...we shared something boss. _

_ My family wasn't always so big on family time. But the team...well, that's a different story, isn't it? You know, I'd never say this to Probie, or Ninja-Girl. But I really do kind of think of all you guys like family. You most of all. You were there first. You've been kinda like a mentor-father figure for me._

_ Just thought you should know that._

_ So...I'm gonna stop now, before I embarrass both of us. Anyway, Merry Christmas, Boss. Gibbs._

_ Merry Christmas. And in case I don't see you at the annual 'It's a Wonderful Life' film-fest this year, I wish you all the joy of the season. I hope I get to share a lot more Christmases with you._

The following pages were blank. Gibbs sat staring at the blank page, then slowly shut the book, leaving it resting on his knee.

Tony. He had never told the young agent how deeply he cherished him. But he had long considered Tony his student, then trusted friend. And slowly...Tony _had_ become family to him. The son he never had. Though he had never told his younger agents, it had been Tony and Ziva and Abby, and McGee, even Palmer who had slowly filled the gaping wound left by the loss of Kelly. His wives had never taken Shannon's place, but he'd been able to allow his team to take the place of his daughter.

He knew, deep in his heart, that this had been the reason Shannon and Kelly had sent him back, when he had drowned. For his team. His family now.

His eyes were stinging again, and he thought there might be something wet sliding down his face. He scrubbed it away roughly, then rose to his feet, hands cradling the book like the precious treasure it was.

He carried the book back downstairs, set it gently back into the box. He was swaying with exhaustion and the emotional upheaval he had experienced, in this glimpse into his Senior Agent's life. And yet, he was conscious of the great gift Tony had given him. He allowed his fingers to caress the spine bearing his agent's name. Then he smiled. "Thanks DiNozzo. Means a lot to me." His fingers ran over the name once more, and then he turned away and headed upstairs, to seek his bed.

He dreamed that night of a dark-haired boy who became a dark-haired young man, and smiled as he stood beside him.

_**Author's Note:** Hope I got the tone right between these guys. Sentiment without being too mushy..._


End file.
